


Guilty

by this_wayward_life



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Breaking Up & Making Up, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Corrupt police, Crime Scenes, Dark Steve Rogers, Detectives, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gay Bucky Barnes, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meet-Cute, Minor Riley/Sam Wilson, Moving In Together, On the Run, POV Bucky Barnes, Prison, Rimming, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Suspense, Top Steve Rogers, Unhealthy Relationships, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_wayward_life/pseuds/this_wayward_life
Summary: Detective Bucky Barnes has a good life - a stable job, a live-in boyfriend and an unmoving moral code. When he meets artist Steve Rogers in a coffee shop while investigating a string of brutal murders, he has no idea how much his life is going to change.As Bucky starts developing feeling towards Steve, and the crime spree he's investigating slowly becomes more worrying, Bucky has to challenge everything he thought he knew, and his carefully crafted life falls to pieces around him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 79
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fic of 2021!
> 
> I've had this plan sitting in my drafts since February, and I've finally started writing it. As usual with me, there won't be a posting schedule, but I'm going to try and have it done by the end of the year (I hope. Usually my predictions are way off but idk)
> 
> Warning: this fic deals with really heavy themes. Heed the tags.

**October**

It's a typical morning for Bucky. He has a latte from the nice little coffee shop next to his apartment complex in his hand, the police cruiser on the drive to work had a suspicious stain on the dashboard that Sam swore was semen, and there's a dead body lying in a pool of blood and covered by a white sheet at his feet.

So, a normal morning.

"How's the cat, Banner?" Bucky asks absently, taking a sip of his coffee. From his feet, the medical examiner rolls his eyes.

"He scratched up my favourite yoga mat the other day," the older man grumbles. "And he's taken to slamming into walls in the middle of the night."

"Charming," Sam drawls from his spot at the police tape. "Has he put a hole in the plaster yet?"

"Only a matter of time," Banner replies mildly. "Can you call Parker over for me, Barnes? We should get this guy to autopsy."

Bucky nods and turns on his heel, looking for the excitable medical student, and eventually finds him talking the ear off his weary-looking sergeant, Hill. Not for the first time, Bucky wonders how such a young, innocent kid can be so enthusiastic all the time, especially when his unpaid internship is working with dead bodies.

"Parker," he calls out, and the kid whips around to look at him. "Banner wants you." 

The kid gives a salute that would make any army captain go purple and scurries off, back towards the puddle of blood. Hill watches him go, her eyes weary, before turning to give Bucky an exhausted smile.

"That kid's got too much damn energy for his very small body," Hill grouses, and Bucky feels a smile tugging at his lips.

"He's, what, twenty-two? I think he's allowed."

"Still." Hill stretches and takes a sip from the takeaway cup in her hand, wincing at the taste. "Don't think I had that much energy at that age."

"Hill, I can't even remember being twenty-two, and it was barely a decade ago. I guarantee you're remembering wrong."

Hill hums, not taking the cup away from her face. Rolling his eyes, Bucky pats her shoulder and turns back to follow Parker, calling over his shoulder, "Sam and I are going with Banner. You wanna come?"

Hill finally resurfaces from her coffee. "Nah, I got a shitton of paperwork back at the precinct. I'll tell the Captain what's going on."

Bucky waves behind him in thanks, eyes focused on the ground so as not to step on any potential evidence. Banner and Parker have already got the body up on a stretcher, the white sheet still firmly in place and draped over the top, and Sam's helping them lift the stretcher into Banner's van. Bucky hangs back, wincing a bit when he sees Sam get blood on his jeans.

"Want me to bring the car around?" he calls out, and Sam gives him an affirmative thumbs up. By the time Bucky's found the car and got it working, Sam's jogging towards him and sliding into the passenger seat.

"You'd better not get blood on the upholstery," Bucky says absently, pulling out from his parking spot. "Fury would kill us both."

"I've got experience with not getting blood on things, and you know it," Sam shoots back, then pauses. "Why d'you think Banner wants us there? He'd usually not let us anywhere near the body until he's done a full examination."

Bucky hums, flicking the indicator on absently to merge. "I dunno. Maybe he saw something? The body was already covered by the time we got there."

"Maybe," Sam murmurs. They drive a few blocks in silence before Bucky speaks again. "Y'think it has something to do with those recent killings of those mob brothers?"

"You mean the Morwell's?" Sam asks, frowning. "They had some kind of mutilation, right? Like a symbol of some kind carved into them?"

"A star. Carved into their chests."

Sam's quiet for a couple of blocks. "You think it could be the same killer?"

"I don't know," Bucky admits. "Maybe those brothers weren't killed by the mob, after all. No-one in organised crime has a calling sign like that - or at least, no-one we've heard of."

Sam huffs, slouching in his seat. "It'd better not be a damn serial killer," he mutters mutinously. "I've got enough on my plate as it is."

At that, Bucky perks up. "Trouble in paradise?"

Sam grumbles a bit and slouches further down. "What makes you say that?"

"The bags under your eyes, for one," Bucky notes, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Also, you're moving like you've got a sore neck. Riley banish you to the couch again?"

Sam flushes and shifts in his seat. "I might've forgotten our anniversary. Maybe." Bucky can't help but snort at that, and Sam gives him a dirty look. "It's not funny! Riles was real upset about it - and don't tell me Brock wouldn't be the same if you forgot."

"I don't think Brock _knows_ when our anniversary is," Bucky replies dryly, finally catching sight of the medical examiner's office up ahead.

"Seriously?" Sam asks, an eyebrow raised. "Aren't you two living together by now?"

"Yep." Bucky flicks the indicator on and swoops in to snatch a newly vacated parking spot. "He's very... Work-oriented."

Sam titters, but thankfully says nothing. Not that he needs to; Bucky already knows all about Sam's dislike for Brock, and it's led to more than a few fights. Almost three years into the relationship and Bucky's resigned himself to the fact that his best friend and his boyfriend will probably never like each other.

As soon as they reach the morgue, all thoughts of Sam's banishment to the couch and Brock fly from Bucky's head. Bruce is already decked out in his coat, gloves and face mask, and Parker's packing up evidence in the corner of the room, a test tube holding a cotton swab clutched tight in his hand. On the table lies the victim, his eyes open and almost bugging out of his skull and body covered in a sheet up to the bottom of his ribcage. Rigor mortis has only just set in, and Banner's trying to manipulate one arm in an attempt to get a sample from a cut on the underside of the man's bicep. The thing that stands out the most to Bucky, though, is the bright red carving on the man's chest, in the shape of a star.

"Detectives," Banner greets, finally taking his sample and straightening up. "I'm guessing you've figured out why you're here by now."

Bucky takes a step towards the examining table, eyes fixed on that carving. "We sure it's the same guy as the Morwell killings?"

"Almost certain. The method of killing was strangulation, meaning the murder must have been emotional in nature -" Banner gestures to the bruising around the man's neck, "- and the object used to create the carvings is the same as those of the Morwell brothers."

"Do we know what it is?" Sam asks, and Bucky almost starts. In his concentration, he hadn't noticed that Sam had come up beside him and was standing on his right, his eyebrows furrowed. "The object, I mean."

"We're not sure," Banner admits. "We know it's not any kind of knife, and it's also not an organic material, such as a stake. The carvings are almost curved, like whatever made them had an almost spherical shape - Parker says they look like an enlarged version of the marks made by a pizza cutter."

Raising an eyebrow at that, Bucky turns to look at Parker, who flushes. "I worked at Dominoes for a semester in college! Of course I know what marks a pizza cutter makes!"

"And the killer?" Bucky asks, turning back to Banner. "We got anything of his?"

"There's a hair that doesn't match the victim's," Banner says. "Parker's going to put it through the database, see if we get a match."

"The victim - we know who he is yet?" Sam asks. Banner nods and pulls a slip of paper out from his clipboard, handing it over. 

"Name's Grant Ward - arrested three times in the past five years for property damage, bomb threats, and assault with the intent to kill. He's part of a white supremacist group - call themselves Hydra."

"Jesus Christ," Sam mutters, and Bucky winces along with him. They'd been put on a task force, back when they were both just beat cops in 2014, to try and get rid of Hydra. Two years worth of raids and more than fifty arrests, and Hydra had been labelled no longer a threat.

"I thought Hydra was just a husk now," Bucky murmurs. 

"We've been seeing a few of them popping up all around the city," Banner admits. "Might be a resurgence."

Sam groans loudly and turns away from the body. "Great, so Hydra's still around, we've got a potential serial killer, and my husband's still mad at me. Fantastic."

Banner raises an eyebrow, but Bucky just waves him off. "Anything else, doc?"

"Nothing yet. I'll send you my report by the end of the day, and we'll let you know if anything else big comes up."

"You got it." Bucky waves to Parker and follows Sam out of the room, the ever-present chill of the morgue and the stench of death dissipating as soon as the door's closed. 

\-----

It's three in the afternoon by the time Bucky manages to tear himself from his desk to grab a much-needed lunch break, waving to a slightly manic-looking Sam on the way out. As easy at it would be to just go to the break room, Bucky had made the mistake of forgetting to pack lunch that day - and besides, the coffee in the break room's shit, and he's craving a chai latte. With that in mind, Bucky sets off down the street to the nearest coffee shop, a kitschy little place on the corner that had décor that made Bucky want to rip his hair out, but who did a mean panini. 

Ordering quickly, Bucky manages to grab the last free table in the place and sits back, sighing at the temporary reprieve. He and Sam had dug out the notes for the Morwell murders (still unsolved, but that hadn't been surprising; mob-related killings rarely went solved) and had poured over them, aided by Banner's report when it had come at around one in the afternoon. While the method of killing had been different - Ward was killed by strangulation, whereas the Morwell's had been shot in the head - that carving in their chests was the same, made by that strange instrument that for the life of them Bucky and Sam could not identify. They'd called in Danvers from criminal profiling and Stark from the weapons subset of forensics, and both were due to drop in around ten the next morning. 

Bucky's brought out of his musings by his sandwich and coffee arriving, and he ends up scarfing down the sandwich in a matter of minutes. He takes his time with the coffee, though, even ordering another just to draw out his lunch a bit. The café was cozy, relaxing, despite the interior design, and he finds himself reluctant to get back to work.

"Excuse me?"

Bucky looks up from his coffee to see an absolute mountain of a man standing a couple of feet away, a satchel slung over one shoulder and his hands cradling a coffee. He's - fuck, he's _gorgeous_ , and Bucky immediately pushes that thought away; floppy blonde hair, a sharp jawline and big, blue eyes, an almost shy smile on his lips. The man's wearing a cream sweater and jeans, and the clothes seem to be pulled taut against broad shoulders and thick arms, with biceps that look to be the size of Bucky's head.

"Yeah?" Bucky says, probably a bit late judging by the way the man's started to shift from foot to foot.

"All the other tables are full," the man says, ducking his head sheepishly. "Can I sit?"

Bucky blinks before nodding, and the man gives him a small smile as he sits down. "Didn't realise how crowded it had gotten."

"Yeah, this place is like a hotspot at this time of day." The man grins, showing perfect white teeth. "I usually get here earlier, but my train was held up."

Bucky nods, then finds himself blurting out, "I'm Bucky."

The man, surprisingly, turns a bit red. It's more than a little bit endearing. "Steve. Thanks for letting me crash your coffee time."

Bucky can't help but laugh at that, and Steve looks a bit pleased with himself. "Believe me, it's fine. Got a reason now to put off going back to work."

"Pretty late for a lunch break," Steve notes, and oh, there's a smirk on his face. This guy's a bit of an asshole, and for Christ's sake, Bucky _really_ likes that.

"Been working nonstop since about six this morning," Bucky admits, taking another sip of his coffee. "This was the first time I got the chance to take a break."

"Yeah? What do you do?" Steve asks. He leans forward a bit, and Bucky gets to see the way those biceps flex under the sweater.

"I'm a detective," Bucky says, and laughs when Steve makes a face. "You not a fan of police?"

"Haven't met many good ones," Steve replies. Bucky winces at that.

"Yeah, me neither. Luckily my captain's a good one - doesn't let anyone get away with anything. Most of the ones at my precinct are pretty great - apart from Stark, he's a bastard."

Steve laughs at that, and Bucky finds himself relaxing. God, when was the last time he'd been so relaxed around a virtual stranger?

"What about you?" Bucky asks. "Gym trainer? Bodybuilder? It's gotta be something like that, with that body of yours." Taking a chance, Bucky reaches over and pokes Steve's arm.

Steve laughs again, and his foot bumps Buckys under the table. "Definitely not. I work out because I like it, and, well..." He looks Bucky up and down, and Bucky feels a tug in his gut. Trying to shake it off (you've got a _boyfriend_ , damnit, Barnes) Bucky clears his throat, shifting in his seat to try and get rid of his sudden arousal.

"Then what do you do?" he asks, and his voice is a lot breathier than he thought. Steve's eyes darken a bit, and Bucky hysterically tries to think of something very unsexy.

"I'm an artist," Steve eventually says, leaning back in his chair with a small smile. "I'm not all that well-known - or good - but I got a few pieces in a gallery down in Red Hook."

"Well, I'd be the first to tell you I know absolutely nothing about art, but even I know you've gotta be good to get your art into a gallery," Bucky teases, and Steve's face goes red again. Bucky has the strange urge to make that blush stay on his face.

"You've never even seen my work," Steve shoots back, and his foot bumps against Buckys again. Before he can move it away, Bucky finds himself pressing back.

"I should change that, shouldn't I?"

Steve ducks his head, but Bucky can see the pleased smile on his face. When he looks up again, a lock of hair falls onto his forehead, and Bucky has the strange urge to push it back into place. "Maybe you should."

Before Bucky can answer, his phone starts buzzing on the table, and he automatically looks down to see Brock's name flashing across his screen. He looks back up at Steve with a small, apologetic smile. "It's my boyfriend, I gotta take this."

Steve blinks, and for a split second, Bucky thinks he sees disappointment flash across his face before his expression smooths back into that friendly smile. "Sure thing."

Bucky gives him another quick smile before picking up the phone. "Hey."

"Hey, baby." Brock's rough voice comes through the speakers, and Bucky feels a smile make its way onto his face. Screw what Sam says, he's fucking gone on this man. "You gonna be home for dinner tonight?"

"I should be, if nothing else comes up," Bucky muses. "Why? I thought you were working until late."

"Change of plan - the boss is letting us out at five. Thought I'd treat my baby to a nice night in - order in from that Italian place you like," Brock's voice turns to a purr, "maybe get up to some... extra activities later."

"Yeah?" Bucky breathes, his body already responding to Brock's tone. It's been so long since he and Brock both had a night off, and all to themselves... Bucky's toes curl just at the thought. "I'd love that. I'll try and get home by six, at the latest."

"Can't wait. See you then, Jamie."

"Mhmm. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye, darlin'."

"Bye."

When Bucky takes the phone away from his ear, he catches sight of the time and blanches. "Shit."

"You okay?" Steve asks, and when Bucky looks over at him, he almost loses his breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Bucky manages. "Just didn't realise how late it was. I should really be getting back to work."

Steve looks disappointed at this, but he smiles anyway. "Sure thing. It was great meeting you."

"You too." Bucky hesitates for a moment before he grabs his notebook and pen from his pocket and scribbles his number down, ripping the page out and pushing it across the table towards Steve. "Here - in case you wanna meet up again." Letting his smile turn a bit cheeky, Bucky adds, "Maybe you can show me some of that art."

Steve's eyes brighten, and he takes the piece of paper and folds it gently, slipping it into his pocket. "I dunno, Bucky. You might have to work for it if you wanna see my stuff."

"I'm counting on it." Bucky scoops his jacket up from the back of his chair and slips it on. "See you around, Steve."

Steve smiles, and Bucky's breath is almost taken away at the brightness. "See you around, Buck."

Giving a small wave, Bucky turns and hurries out of the cafe and back towards the precinct, pulling his jacket tight around him to escape the chill.

When he finally gets back to the precinct, Sam looks at him incredulously. "What took you so long? You've been gone for almost an hour."

"Lost track of time," Bucky replies, sliding back into his seat. He doesn't mention Steve. "Found anything else?"

Sam snorts and tosses a file towards Bucky. "Nope. Keep reading, slacker, and hopefully, we'll be outta here in time for me to make Riley an apology dinner."

"Get him chocolate and a bunch of yellow tulips on the way," Bucky says, opening the file. "That'll get you back in his good books, for sure."

"How the hell d'you know my husband's favourite flower?" Sam grumbles, but eventually turns back to his work. Bucky focuses on the words in the file and pushes thoughts of baby blue eyes and a sunshine smile out of his mind.

\-----

They call it quits just after five, after pouring over files upon files of past killers, trying to find anything that might match the star-carving killer. Sam drives Bucky home, humming along to the Marvin Gaye playing from the speakers and heeding Bucky's advice when he tells him to get Riley flowers from the tiny flower shop on the corner of 48th, owned by the old Greek lady with missing teeth, and promises to pick him up at seven the next morning. It's six-fifteen by the time Bucky steps through the door of his apartment, automatically relaxing as the scent of lasagne fills his nose. Brock's standing at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, tapping away at his phone, but as soon as he sees Bucky he slips the phone into his pocket and puts the wine down to open his arms.

"There you are," he says, and Bucky gladly walks into his embrace. Brock smells of cigarettes and that cologne that he always wears, and Bucky feels the last remnants of stress from the day seep out of his body. "Was wondering when you'd get back."

"Had to help Sam pick out flowers for Riley," Bucky mumbles, tucking his nose into Brock's shoulder. It never gets old just how small Brock makes him feel, even though there can't be more than a couple of inches difference in their height. "Should've called."

"You're here now, aren't you?" Brock murmurs. He tilts Bucky's head up, and Bucky sighs as their lips brush together. "I'll reheat dinner - you sit that pretty ass down on the couch and I'll bring you some wine." As if to demonstrate, Brock's hands wander down to squeeze Bucky's ass, and he arches into the touch. 

"You're really spoiling me tonight, aren't you?" Bucky chuckles. He presses one last chaste kiss to Brock's lips before walking over to the couch and sinking down into it with a sigh, his head falling back against the back of the couch. The sounds of Brock puttering around in the kitchen reach his ears and Bucky smiles, kicking off his shoes and jeans and unbuttoning his shirt just enough for his chest to be visible. His half-assed seduction attempt seems to work, as when Brock comes back over with the wine he puts the glasses down on the coffee table and presses Bucky back into the couch instead, his hands sliding underneath Bucky's shirt.

"God, you're gorgeous," Brock purrs, sucking a bruise onto Bucky's collar. Bucky gasps and arches up into it, the roughness of Brock's stubble against his skin making his cock fatten up in his pants. "Don't even know if I can wait until dinner's over to have my way with you."

Bucky moans softly, wrapping his legs around Brock's hips and tilting his head back until it rests on the armrest, almost lazily grinding up into the bulge in Brock's pants. "Dinner can be reheated, can't it?"

Brock gives a low groan and grips Bucky's ass in both hands, sliding his underwear down slowly until his fingers brush against Bucky's hole. "If I get you in bed, I ain't letting you out."

"I see no downside to that."

Brock looks up from his quest to turn Bucky's neck black and blue, his eyes dark, and before Bucky knows what's happening he's being hoisted up and thrown over Brock's shoulder with a squeal.

"You Neanderthal!" Bucky sputters out. He hears Brock laugh, and he yelps again when a slap lands on his bare ass as Brock starts walking towards their bedroom. As he gets thrown on the bed and Brock's body covers his own, the thoughts of the man in the coffee shop fade from Bucky's mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, don't expect me to bash out a chapter every day. I'm very surprised at how productive I'm being and it's sure not to last. I am also very impatient and must post a chapter as soon as I've finished writing it so

True to her word, Danvers shows up at the precinct at exactly ten the next morning, laptop tucked under her arm and hair effortlessly styled into its usual pixie cut. Bucky and Sam had already been at the precinct for a few hours, still going over the little that they had. The results from the DNA tests had come back with no matches, which put a considerable damper on their moves; so Danvers' presence at least lifted their spirits.

"Detectives." She holds out a hand, first to Sam then Bucky. "Heard you've got some kind of psycho on your hands."

"We're not sure," Sam admits, gesturing for her to follow him as he starts walking. "We've set up in the conference room - hopefully Stark will join us soon enough, but you know how the man is."

"Yes, I do," Danvers says dryly. "There's a reason I dislike working with him."

"Believe me, if there was anyone else with his level of expertise, we'd have called them in instead," Bucky sighs, falling into step beside them. "But Stark's at the top of his field, and nobody else can do the things he can. Unfortunately."

They reach the conference room; a small office with several chairs around a large table. Sam and Bucky had set up shop at one end, and files litter the table in organised chaos. Taking the seat he'd been in for most of the morning, Bucky reaches over to grab the file containing the crime scene photos of yesterday's murder and passes them over to the profiler, watching as one of her eyebrows raises.

"The hell made those marks?" she asks.

"That's what Stark is for," Sam replies wearily. "We think it's the killer's calling card. There were two other murders with the same mark carved into the same spot; two brothers who had connections in organised crime. Other than the mark, there's no connection between the killings."

"They were killed in different ways?" Danvers asks. "Where's the file?"

Bucky rifles through a pile and, after a bit of searching, manages to pull out the file for the Morwell brothers. "Past arrests, crime scene photos, a list of suspects... The case went cold as soon as we started. Thought it was just a mob killing - we're not so sure now."

"I can see why," Danvers murmurs. "Can I have half an hour, just to study these?"

"Coffee?" Sam asks as he rises from his seat. "May as well walk down the street, grab a nice cup."

"Sure," Danvers says distractedly, already rifling through the files and booting up her laptop. "Large black with two sugars, please."

"You got it. Bucky?"

"Yeah, I'll come," Bucky sighs, standing up with a wince. Last night had certainly been an... acrobatic one, something that he's now regretting. Sam raises an eyebrow at his wince, and Bucky sticks his tongue out. They leave Danvers with a slowly growing stack of papers next to her, typing furiously away at her laptop.

As soon as they're out of the room, Bucky asks, "How'd last night go?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sam says, looking down meaningfully at Bucky's slight limp. "Rumlow get away from work early?"

Bucky ducks his head, feeling a smile make its way onto his lips. "Yeah. He made it a real occasion - bought dinner from that Italian place I like and everything."

"He end up making love to you on a bed of rose petals?" Sam sniggers, punching at the elevator to call it up. "Didn't know he was capable of being gentle."

Bucky winces again. "Not exactly. He likes being a bit rough."

Sam snorts disdainfully. "Of course he does. Probably gets a power trip from it and everything."

The elevator doors open, and they step inside, Sam pressing the button to take them down to street level. Bucky doesn't bother to respond to that - Sam doesn't need to know that he's probably right. "Back to you. Did Riley like the flowers?"

Sam smiles, his eyes far away and fond. "I gotta make dinner for the rest of the month, but I'm allowed back in the bed. You're not the only one who got lucky last night." He wiggles his eyebrows and Bucky snorts, nudging Sam with his shoulder.

"He's too soft with you. You're spoiled, Wilson," he teases.

"Sometimes it's nice to be spoiled," Sam shoots back. 

They keep shooting the shit together as they walk down the street, and Bucky feels a flutter in his stomach when they end up right at the café that he'd gone to the day before. It's pretty unlikely that they'd run into Steve there - it's just past ten in the morning, and according to Steve, his usual time here was just before three - but Bucky still can't help but look around. He's strangely disappointed when he doesn't see broad shoulders and blonde hair.

"Who're you looking for?" Sam asks curiously, and Bucky jumps.

"No-one," he says quickly, and Sam gives him an unimpressed look.

"Barnes, even if I wasn't a detective I'd be able to see that you're lying from a goddamn mile away. You meet someone yesterday?" Sam's expression turns sly. "Meet someone cute?"

"That's none of your concern," Bucky sniffs, unable to stop the heat from rising to his cheeks. They order - another chai for Bucky, a caramel latte for Sam, and Danvers's black with two sugars. "We just had a conversation - all the other seats were taken."

"Hmm," Sam hums doubtfully, swiping his card and giving the cashier a charming smile before moving to the side and taking a seat at the nearest table. "What'd he look like?"

"What makes you think it's a he?" Bucky challenges, sitting opposite him.

"Because you wouldn't be this excited over a woman, Barnes - you're gayer than Elton friggin' John, and I've never seen you act like this around someone you see only in a platonic sense."

Bucky sighs, shuffling on his feet. "Okay, so he was attractive, alright? But I'm not looking for anything like that - I've got a boyfriend, for Christ's sake, a _steady, live-in_ boyfriend. Just because the guy was cute doesn't mean I'm looking for anything with him."

"Hmm," Sam hums again. "Does this mystery man have blonde hair and a body like Superman, by any chance?"

Bucky's head shoots up to glare at Sam, before following his gaze to the doors, where a very familiar person is stepping through. Steve's not alone; he's chatting along to a man that is, somehow, even larger than he is, with long blonde hair braided back from his face and a thick beard, also braided. As if sensing eyes on him Steve looks over, and his eyes immediately light up when he sees Bucky. He raises his hand in a small wave, and Bucky can't help but mimic the motion. When he turns back to an all-too-knowing Sam, he flushes.

"Shut up," he hisses.

"If you wanna go over and talk to him, I can call you back over when our coffees are ready," Sam says far too casually. Bucky chances another glance over at Steve, who's turned bright red and is hissing something to his amused-looking friend, and lets out a breath.

"Fine. Okay. I won't be long."

"Take as much time as you need," Sam says, his eyes twinkling and a grin on his lips. Bucky reels back the urge to slap his best friend upside the head, and instead makes his way across the café. As soon as Steve sees him coming he straightens up, that smile still on his face, and God, Bucky shouldn't find it so cute.

"It's a bit early for you to be here, isn't it?" Bucky finds himself asking as soon as he's standing in front of Steve. He didn't realise it yesterday since they were both sitting down, but Steve is at least four inches taller than Bucky, his shoulders maybe twice as wide. He's wearing another too-tight sweater, and there's a hint of stubble on his jaw that makes Bucky's throat go dry.

"Maybe I was just wanting to find some good company," Steve replies, his eyes twinkling. "You did tell me you work around here."

"Actually, I told you I was on lunch break," Bucky points out, unable to stop a smile from curling his lips.

"And I read between the lines to hear that you must work around here. Seems I was right - unless that's your boyfriend standing over there watching us."

Bucky looks over his shoulder to see Sam with his arms crossed, grinning like a maniac, and sighs. "No, that's Sam. He's my partner - in a completely work-oriented sense."

"Of course," Steve says, nodding sagely in a way that made Bucky know he was making fun of him. "And this is my completely work-oriented partner, Thor." He gestures at the giant of a man beside him, who beams and grips Bucky's hand in an enthusiastic grip.

"It is truly a blessed day when one meets the subject of a friend's affections!" he booms, and Bucky notices Steve turn a deep red.

"Thor, no," Steve almost yelps, then turns to look sheepishly at Bucky. "He's, uh, Scandinavian. They can be a bit... intense."

"Uh-huh," Bucky manages, finally managing to extract his hand from Thor's grip. "It's good to meet you, Thor."

"And I you," Thor says brightly. "Steven, shall I order?"

"Sure, buddy," Steve sighs, but there's a fond smile on his lips. Thor grins and almost bounces off towards the register, leaving Steve and Bucky alone together. Steve clears his throat, his cheeks still just a bit pink, and says, "Sorry about Thor. He seems to think every attractive person I introduce him to is the, uh, _subject of my affections_." He does little air-quotes at that, and Bucky can't help but giggle.

"You introduce him to a lot of _attractive_ people then?" he teases, and gets the pleasure of seeing that blush spread across Steve's face once again.

"Oh, I, uh, I didn't mean -" Steve stammers, and Bucky watches in amusement as he continues to flounder. "I mean, you _are_ attractive, but I don't want to assume anything -"

"Steve," Bucky finally interrupts, watching as Steve's mouth clicks shut. "You don't need to worry."

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are wide and hopeful, and Bucky bites his lip to keep from grinning. "I mean, I know you've got a boyfriend, but I'd like a chance to, y'know, get to know each other? As friends!" he adds quickly before Bucky can open his mouth. "You just... You seem like a real swell guy."

"I'd like that, Steve," Bucky says softly, and Steve's eyes go soft. He hadn't noticed it the day before, but Steve's eyes have these little flecks of green in them - not much, but just enough to make them just that bit more interesting. Bucky licks his suddenly dry lips and watches as Steve follows the movement with his eyes.

"I hate to interrupt," a voice comes from behind them, causing Bucky to jump - when did he and Steve get so close? - and spin around to see Sam, watching in amusement and holding three coffees in a tray, "but we've gotta get back to the precinct."

"Right," Bucky manages, and there must be something on his face because Sam's expression turns positively gleeful.

"Sorry for keeping you," Steve says, and Bucky turns back around to look at him.

"It's fine," Bucky says, his voice just a bit too breathy for his comfort. "It, uh, it was nice seeing you again, Steve."

"You too." 

Without thinking, Bucky reaches out and gives Steve's chest a few pats before withdrawing his hand as if it had been burned. Steve just watches with wide eyes, his lips parted just enough for Bucky to glance down at them. 

"Right," Bucky repeats. "Call me sometime?"

"How about tonight?" Steve asks, then flushes. "If you're not busy, that is."

"Tonight it is," Bucky says breathlessly, giving Steve a smile that is quickly returned.

"Bucky," Sam reminds, and Bucky steps past Steve and towards the door, Sam following behind. When they step out onto the street Bucky can't stop himself from turning his head to catch another glimpse of Steve, and he sees him standing where he'd left him, watching Bucky leave with a sweet smile on his face. As soon as he sees Bucky turn back he diverts his gaze and walks towards Thor, but Bucky still catches sight of the pink on his cheeks.

"He seems nice," Sam offers.

"Shut up, Sam." Sam just chuckles and shakes his head, remaining quiet until they got back to the precinct.

When the elevator opens onto their floor, Bucky sighs when he sees who's currently sitting at his desk, attempting to flirt with Natasha, who looks like she's about to commit murder.

"Look who's finally arrived," Sam murmurs, then at a normal volume, "Stark."

Stark turns around with a grin on his face that's probably meant to be charming but instead comes off as obnoxious and just a bit creepy. "Wilson! Barnes! My favourite detectives! Excluding you, of course, darling," he coos to Natasha, whose expression turns thunderous.

"Stark!" Bucky barks. "Conference room, now!"

"Fine, _Sergeant_ ," Stark mumbles, but he does get up and start following Sam towards the conference room. 

"Sorry," he whispers to Natasha.

"You, me, bar," she hisses back in that thick accent of hers. "You buy drinks."

Bucky sighs but nods - probably the least he could do, what with saddling her with Stark (albeit by accident) - and follows Sam and Stark to the conference room. Inside, Danvers is still typing away but she extends a hand expectantly, humming in appreciation when Sam presses her coffee into her hand.

"Why does she get a coffee and I don't?" Stark asks indignantly.

"Because she arrived at the agreed time, and not forty-five minutes late," Sam replies without missing a beat. "Carol, you find anything?"

"Nothing that you haven't already figured out," she sighs, finally surfacing from her laptop. "But I've developed a profile based on the evidence you do have."

"Let's hear it," Bucky says, easing himself down into his vacated seat. Danvers nods sharply and rearranges the papers she's messed up, flicking a strand of hair off her forehead.

"Okay, so your perp is probably male, judging by the strength needed to strangle a man the size of Grant Ward with nothing but his hands," she starts, gesturing at one of the pictures of Ward's neck. "Ward, upon inspection, was six foot two and 200 pounds, so our man is either at least that or is just really good at killing people with nothing but his hands. I'm pretty sure he's white, since it is more common for a white person to commit a crime such as this against another white person in a place as public as a parking lot, but I could be mistaken. Since his victims consist of two members of a gang and a white supremacist, I'd say that he probably thinks of this as some warped sense of justice."

"So we've got a crazy who thinks himself a hero?" Sam asks, and Danvers grimaces.

"Possibly. This is all guesswork, and while usually my guesses are correct, there are no guarantees. And this," now, she points at the star carving. "This solidifies my idea that maybe he's doing this to give out judgement. The star represents freedom in several cultures, including our own, and could even symbolize the stars upon the America flag. It's meant to send a message - what message, I'm not exactly sure."

"And the violence of the crimes?" Bucky speaks up. "Is that because of the nature of the victims, too?"

"I think so," Danvers says thoughtfully. "It'd make sense that he has a hatred for people that break the law - ironic, considering he's murdering people - because these carvings are _brutal_." She shakes her head, closing her laptop and standing up. "I should get a second opinion on this. I'm going back to profiling, having a co-worker look over my notes. Wilson, could you send me the photos from both crime scenes?"

"You got it," Sam nods, then turns to Stark. "All yours. We gotta figure out what the hell made those wounds on the vic's chest."

As soon as he picks up the first picture Tony's jabbering on about something, but Bucky tunes him out - it's hardly the first time he's worked with Stark, and he knows that it's best to just ignore him until he makes a very loud noise.

"Thanks for coming," Bucky says over Tony's chatter, extending a hand that Danvers grips firmly. "It always helps when the experts come in to take a look at something we're working on."

"Pleasure's mine," Danvers replies briskly. "I'd never miss an opportunity to come to Nick's precinct - gives me an excuse to drop in on him, ask him why the hell he hasn't come over to dinner in so long."

"You and Captain Fury are close?" Bucky asks, leading her out of the conference room. 

"He's my daughter's godfather, we'd damn well better be," she snorts, and that professional façade of hers slips just enough for her to give him a proper smile. "Good seeing you, Barnes."

"You too, Danvers." Danvers nods in farewell and turns on her heel, striding across the ball pit and towards Fury's office, not even bothering to knock before barging in.

"Steel fucking balls, that woman has," Sam mutters in awe, and Bucky snorts.

"Don't even think about it," he warns. "You're both married and she's a lesbian."

"You kidding? I'd be too scared to even try," Sam scoffs. "We gonna leave Stark in there until he comes barging out?"

"Is there really any other option, when it comes to Stark?" Bucky sighs, and Sam echoes him. 

"Good point."

It's then that Stark comes stumbling out of the conference room, an almost manic look in his eyes. "Wilson, pack up some copies of these photos," he says, shoving several photos into Sam's chest. "I gotta get to my lab, do some tests." He seems close to gleeful, his eyes flicking to every moving thing in the room not dissimilar to a man on crack. "I feel like I've seen something like this before, but I just can't think of it."

"How long do you think it'll take before you find something?" Bucky asks as Sam, grumbling, goes to the photocopier and starts copying the pictures. "We're on a bit of a tight schedule here."

Stark waves a hand dismissively, already tapping furiously away on his phone. "Depends on how much I sleep. A day, maybe two. Maybe a week, maybe a month. I dunno - these things can't be rushed, Bucky bear. ME is Brucey, right? Should give him a call, see if he can sneak me in to see the corpse of that Nazi."

Sam comes back over, shoving the photocopied photos into a plastic folder. "Do not lose these, alright, Stark?"

"You underestimate me," Stark scoffs, snatching the folder from him. "I've been working in law enforcement since before you were born, kiddo - I know what I'm doing." With one last wiggle of his fingers Stark's swaggering out of the ball pit, his phone already at his ear as he chatters at whatever poor soul is on the other end.

"Christ, he's annoying," Sam sighs. "How long d'you think he'll take to get those results back to us?"

Bucky just shakes his head in exasperation, already feeling a headache forming behind his eyes.

\------

Bucky isn't able to get home that night until almost eight o'clock, and he collapses onto the couch with a groan. Brock's gone for the night on another shift, so Bucky peels himself off the couch to scavenge for food. Thankfully, there's leftover lasagne from last night's takeout, and Bucky throws it in the microwave to heat up before going into his and Brock's bedroom to get changed. He strips to his boxers and rifles around in the wardrobe, finally just throwing on an oversized sweater and not bothering with pants, and pads back out to grab his lasagne and the opened bottle of wine from the night before. He and Brock had drunk about half of it already, curled up together in bed and licking it off each other's lips, and it's that thought that has Bucky setting down his food and rolling onto his stomach, snapping a picture of his barely-clad ass and sending it to Brock. He gets a reply ten minutes later when he's polishing off the lasagne and on his second glass of wine in the form of several drooling emojis and one eggplant. Not exactly eloquent, but it rarely is coming from Brock.

It's after he's washed the dishes and is curled up on the couch with some sitcom playing on the television when his phone rings, and he picks it up without much thought, frowning at the unknown number.

"This is Barnes."

"Barnes, huh? There goes my opening line of what your last name is."

Bucky feels a grin make its way onto his face, and he makes himself comfortable on the couch, switching the television off. "That's a pretty terrible opening line, but surprisingly not the worst I've heard."

Steve chuckles, and the sound of his voice next to Bucky's ear sends a warm, fuzzy feeling through Bucky's chest. "What's the worst you've heard, then?"

"God, I've got no clue," Bucky muses, stretching out his legs. "I was on Grindr for, like, half of my twenties - it's probably something from then."

"Oh god," Steve groans, and he sounds so abjectly horrified that Bucky has to laugh. "Don't talk to me about Grindr. I downloaded it after my friends kept bugging me and I ended up deleting it after a single weekend."

"What was the breaking point?"

"The guy who asked me to spread cream cheese over his body."

Bucky can't help the laughter that bursts from his chest, and from the chuckling on the other side of the line, Steve's no different. "That didn't turn you on?"

"I prefer to have cream cheese on bagels, not twinks," Steve says dryly, which sets Bucky off all over again. When they've finally calmed down they sit in silence, though it's not uncomfortable. Bucky finds himself wondering what would happen if Steve was sitting next to him - if he'd be able to feel the heat of Steve through his sweater, if Steve's shoulder pressed against his.

"What's your last name?" Bucky asks eventually.

"Is this a 'you show me yours, I'll show you mine' scenario?" Steve asks in amusement.

"Why not?" Bucky shoots back, and is rewarded with another laugh. "It's only fair, _Steven_."

"It's Rogers, okay?" Steve finally laughs.

"Very all-American."

"You don't get to talk about weird names, your name is Bucky Barnes."

"Actually, it's James. Bucky's a nickname."

"From what?"

"Middle name's Buchanan."

Steve guffaws. "Who's the all-American now?"

"I beg your pardon," Bucky sniffs with false indignation, "President James Buchanan was the most useless president this country's ever seen - all he did was be gay and not prevent a civil war."

"At least you've got one thing in common with him."

Bucky's cheeks ache a bit, and he realises that he has not stopped smiling since he picked up the phone. This friendly banter is something that Bucky usually only gets from Sam, and it's more than a little refreshing to be able to let go with someone like this. 

"What are you up to tonight?" Steve asks after a pause.

"Lazy night in," Bucky replies. "Had a couple glasses of wine and am currently on the couch watching some shitty sitcom."

"Boyfriend not with you?" Steve asks, sounding just a bit too casual to be natural.

"Brock's a security guard - he has some pretty unpredictable hours." Bucky shifts, suddenly a bit uncomfortable. "I've gotten used to it."

Steve's quiet for a few seconds, before he says quietly, "He's gone pretty often, then?"

"He was here last night," Bucky finds himself defending weakly. "He got the night off - made a real effort and everything."

"Is that why you were walking funny today?" Steve sounds like he's grinning, and Bucky can't help but flush.

"God, was it that obvious?" he groans, covering his face with a hand. "Sam was teasing me about the same thing - I thought he was just exaggerating." Steve chuckles again, and Bucky finds himself saying, "Last night was the first time he's been home on a weeknight in months."

"That sounds hard," Steve says softly, and Bucky suddenly has to blink back tears.

"Yeah," Bucky whispers. Silence descends upon them again, but it's a comforting kind of silence. Bucky closes his eyes and listens to Steve's soft breaths through the receiver, feeling something dangerously close to contentedness wash over him.

"Are you happy, Buck?" Steve asks suddenly. 

Bucky blinks, a bit taken aback. "Why?"

He can almost see Steve's sheepish shrug in his mind's eye. "Can't I be curious about a friend?"

Something warm curls in Bucky's gut and he sits back, contemplating the question. His life's good at the moment - he's financially stable, lives in a nice apartment with a boyfriend who loves him, has a job that he enjoys and friends that he tries to see as often as he can. Pushing back the small sliver of doubt, Bucky smiles softly and says, "Yeah, Steve. I'm happy."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the third day in a row I have uploaded a chapter. I know, I'm shocked too.
> 
> This chapter does contain some sexytimes (aka masturbucktion) and thoughts of infidelity, although no infidelity will actually happen in the fic.

**December**

As the weeks go on and it gets closer to winter, the weather slowly turns colder. Usually, the colder months were a more lowkey time of year, since nobody wants to run around in the middle of the freezing cold night to get their crime fix, and after Grant Ward's murder, the maybe-serial killer seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. Sure, it's good that no other bodies are popping up, but it also means that the case has gone as cold as the weather outside - something that makes both Sam and Bucky twitchy.

Brock's hours start getting longer and longer, and more often than not Bucky finds himself alone in an apartment that feels just too big for one person. When this happens he finds himself making more plans - going out to bars with Natasha and buying her that top-shelf vodka she craves, dropping by Sam and Riley's place to let Riley feed him and Sam nag him, even calling Becca up to see if she needs a babysitter for little Max, who's hit the terrible two's and spends her days running around their brownstone, screaming her little head off. More often than not, however, Bucky ends up calling Steve. Steve, who somehow always manages to be available to grab a coffee, to try out that new restaurant that opened up down the street, to come over and watch the romcoms that Brock refuses to watch with him. 

It's one of those days on a Saturday in mid-December, a rare day off for Bucky. He wakes up warm and comfortable with the full intent to have a lazy day in with Brock, who'd promised he'd get the weekend off; make some breakfast and eat it in bed, have some lazy sex - hell, maybe he'd even convince Brock to go out on a date that night, something they hadn't done for over a year. When Bucky opens his eyes, however, he finds himself alone in the bedroom, a note on the bedside table.

_Emergency at work. Had to run.  
-Brock_

Letting out a frustrated huff, Bucky flops back on the bed irritably, reaching for his phone. Brock had sent him a text, too, asking for Bucky to text when he woke up. It was a bit petty to ignore it, Bucky knows, but Brock _had_ promised to be here, and it fucking sucked to know that Brock had broken yet another promise. Before Bucky knew what he was doing he was opening his contacts and clicking at the first one that came up. 

The phone barely rang before it was picked up, and Bucky was greeted by Steve's very out of breath voice.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Bucky asks, unable to not be amused. "Sounds like you're doing something pretty strenuous."

"Pull your mind out of the gutter, Barnes," Steve huffs. "I just got back from a run. The hell are you doing, calling me at eight on your day off? Usually, you'd be sleeping for at least another hour."

Bucky sighs, making himself comfortable. "I'm still in bed. Brock's off at a work emergency - _again_."

"You kidding?" Steve sounds annoyed, and Bucky gets a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, knowing that Steve's so pissed on his behalf. "I thought he'd promised to be around today."

"He had," Bucky groused, throwing his free arm over his eyes. "I know I'm probably overreacting, but... he _promised_ , y'know? And this is hardly the first time this has happened - it feels like the only times we see each other is when we're fucking."

Steve hums, and Bucky hears some shuffling on the other side of the line. "I'm gonna go shower, then I'm meeting you at that café down the street from your place. The one with the comic book posters on the walls."

Bucky finds himself blinking back tears, and he's mortified to hear his voice crack when he speaks. "Stevie... you don't have to -"

"Hey," Steve interrupts gently. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. You deserve to be treated right, Buck, and if your boyfriend isn't going to do that I guess I can take up the responsibility." His voice turns a bit teasing towards the end, and Bucky lets out a slightly wet laugh.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's a real hardship for you."

"I'll meet you there in half an hour?" Steve asks.

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Buck." Steve sounds so fond, and Bucky has to bite his lip to keep from saying something stupid.

It's only after Steve hangs up that Bucky can let out a breath, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. In the couple of months that he's known Steve, more than once Bucky's found his mind going to less platonic thoughts about his new friend. And honestly, why wouldn't he? Steve's gorgeous, with an amazing personality to boot, and he always makes time for Bucky, even if it's just a couple of minutes - something that Brock has no patience for. He's not afraid to be vulnerable or to give out affection, and Bucky's come to love the way Steve wraps him up in his arms every time they see each other. And maybe it's because Bucky's still pissed at Brock, and maybe it's because he woke up in a mood - maybe it's even because Steve's voice was just in his ear, murmuring words of positive affirmation and making Bucky feel a hundred feet tall, but Bucky finds himself rolling onto his stomach and fishing the lube out of the top drawer of his bedside table, kicking the covers off as he goes. 

Squeezing a bit of lube onto his hand, Bucky wraps his hand around his already hardening cock, sighing at the heat and pressure against the sensitive skin. He starts to stroke slowly, gently, his free hand trailing up his stomach to trace circles around his nipples, each brush of his fingers sending shoots of arousal down into his gut. It doesn't take long before he's grinding up into his hand, letting out small whimpers at each stroke.

It isn't until his nipples are swollen and red that Bucky finally slows down, squeezing a bit of lube onto the fingers of his free hand and letting them slide between his legs, behind where he's still stroking his cock. The first press of fingers to his hole makes Bucky jump, but soon he's easing the tip of a finger in with a soft moan. In his mind's eye, he thinks about if his fingers were just a little thicker, a little longer, and if those fingers were connected to big, calloused hands, with the slightest smattering of blonde hair on the back. The finger goes deeper, crooking up just in the way Bucky likes it and the way that Brock never seems to know how to do, and sparks light up underneath Bucky's eyelids.

"Steve!" Bucky gasps out, letting his legs fall wider. God, thinking of Steve's body on top of his - all that golden skin, those bulging muscles, those plush lips marking him up for the world to see, praise spilling from them like paint. Bucky adds another finger and whines at the stretch, arching his back into it and wishing, not for the first time, that he had toys - Brock had made him get rid of them, claiming that if Bucky wanted something, he could just go to him. But Brock's not here, and it's not his visage that Bucky's thinking of, two fingers deep inside himself and writhing on the bed like a bitch in heat.

What would Steve think, seeing him like this? Bucky's seen the way Steve looks at him when he thinks he's not looking, the way his eyes rove over Bucky's body like he wants to eat him alive. How would Steve react, knowing Bucky's touched himself to the thought of Steve's body on his, Steve's fingers inside him?

With one last cry, Bucky spills over his stomach, his ass fluttering around his fingers like it's trying to milk them dry. When he collapses back against the bed, he can almost feel Steve's lips on his throat.

The guilt comes later, when Bucky's wiping the evidence of his morning activities from his body as water rushes around him. Steve's a _friend_ , a _good_ friend, and Bucky's in a relationship - a _serious_ relationship, with a man that he loves. Sure, Brock has his flaws, but it's barely his fault that his work is so unpredictable. And Steve's not the first cute guy that Bucky's friends with - both Sam and Riley are gorgeous, and he doesn't think of them in any sexual way. Maybe it's because Steve's never said anything about a partner?

As soon as Bucky gets out of the shower he's reaching for his phone, typing out a text to Brock.

_Missed you this morning. Going out with a friend - when will you be home?_

The answer doesn't come immediately, something Bucky had been expecting, so he gets dressed in some jeans, a turtleneck and combat boots, tying up his still-damp hair in a loose bun and grabbing his coat and a chunky scarf on the way out. When he's halfway to the café, Brock texts back.

_Hey baby, sorry about the short notice. Idk when I'll be home, but I'll pick u up something nice on the way back._

_K_ , Bucky replies, because he's still just a little bit miffed, and tucks the phone back in his pocket. The cafe's barely a five-minute walk from there, and Bucky's hit by a gust of warm air as soon as he steps in. Steve's already there, sitting at a small table near the back, and he looks up when Bucky approaches, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Buck," he says cheerfully, standing up to pull Bucky in for one of his signature hugs. Bucky feels himself melt into it against his will, curling his fingers into the fabric of Steve's sweater. He smells really nice today, and Bucky tucks his nose into Steve's neck with a quiet sigh. They separate after what's probably too long, and Bucky immediately feels himself missing Steve's heat.

"Thanks for coming," Bucky mumbles as he sits down, sliding his coat off his shoulders and onto the back of the chair. Across the table Steve does the same, running a hand through his hair and sending it flopping forward onto his forehead.

"Course, Buck," Steve says softly, and he reaches across the table to rest his hand on top of Buckys. "You can always call me when you need me, you know that."

Bucky doesn't answer, but he turns his hand up to lace their fingers together, and the blush that graces Steve's face is worth it. 

\-----

After breakfast (which then led to a walk in the park, a visit to an art museum and hotdogs from a cart), Steve insists on walking Bucky home, even though it's barely ten minutes from their location and the middle of the day. Bucky doesn't complain, especially not when Steve lays his arm over Bucky's shoulders as they set off, and it's a warm, comforting weight against him, the heat of Steve's skin burning into Bucky's flesh even through several layers of clothing. It's nice, and as they stop outside Bucky's apartment he's suddenly a bit reluctant to let Steve go. Steve's just been so sweet today, and Brock's likely still at work - Bucky doesn't really want to be rattling around such a large place all by himself, especially on his day off.

"Steve," he says, and Steve turns his head to meet Bucky's eyes. Bucky swallows, suddenly feeling a bit silly. "I... D'you wanna come inside?"

Any hesitance Bucky feels quickly dissipates when Steve's face lights up, and his arm tightens around Bucky's shoulders. "Yeah, Buck. I'd love to."

Bucky nods, ducking his head to keep the stupid smile on his face out of Steve's sight, and shimmies out from under his arm to unlock the front door. It's barely two in the afternoon, and since they already ate they end up settling down on opposite sides of the couch and switching on the TV, pulling up Netflix and clicking on the first movie in Bucky's queue. Settling in, Bucky rests his back against the armrest and stretches his legs out, settling his feet in Steve's lap. Instead of kicking his feet off, however, Steve just rests a hand on Bucky's ankle, just above his sock, and begins to stroke the skin with his thumb. It feels... nice, and Bucky relaxes into it with a sigh, earning a soft squeeze to his ankle.

As the movie progresses, Bucky finds both of them inching closer, and by the end of the movie Steve's head is in his lap and his chest against Bucky's knees, and Bucky's fingers have made their way into Steve's corn silk hair. It's comfortable, and since they have nothing better to do, they turn on a second movie. It's barely half an hour before Bucky finds himself drifting off to sleep, Steve's weight a warm comfort against his legs.

At first, Bucky's not entirely sure what woke him up. The sky's a lot darker than it was when he last looked, and the TV's blinking away with _are you still watching?_ flashing on the screen. Steve is still snoring away, his arms wrapped around Bucky's thighs and face buried in his stomach, and Bucky finds himself running a hand through Steve's hair, smiling when Steve makes a snuffling sound and burrows closer. Then Bucky hears the door close, and he looks over to see Brock kicking off his shoes, his back turned. Stretching, Bucky disentangles himself from Steve's arms and stands up, padding over to plaster himself against Brock's back, planting a kiss to the nape of his neck.

"What time 's it?" Bucky mumbles. Brock turns around in his arms and gathers him close, and Bucky sighs happily when their lips meet.

"Just past six-thirty." Brock tucks a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. "You fall asleep in front of the TV again?"

"Mhmm," Bucky hums, letting his eyes flutter closed as Brock cups his face in one hand. "Guess we lost track of time."

"We?" Brock questions, and Bucky hums again.

"Me 'n Steve. We must've fallen asleep."

Brock goes still, and Bucky opens his eyes in confusion to see Brock gazing over at the couch. "Who's Steve?" Brock asks, his voice hard. Bucky raises an eyebrow at the tone and takes Brock's hand off his face to twine their fingers together.

"The friend I was telling you about. He took me out to breakfast this morning?" Bucky reminds him. Brock's jaw clenches, his hand stiff in Bucky's. 

"And you two spent the whole day together?" His words sound a bit like a challenge. Despite himself, Bucky feels himself puffing up in defence.

"I didn't wanna be alone. Y'know, since you weren't here."

Brock huffs. "He still here?"

"He's sleeping," Bucky says, a bit nonplussed. "Why?"

"Get him out," Brock growls through clenched teeth, and Bucky takes a step back in shock. He's never seen Brock so angry, not even when he'd been denied that promotion a few months back, and Bucky finds himself... scared. As soon as the fear came, however, it was quickly replaced by anger.

"We're going to _talk_ about this," Bucky hisses out, then turns on his heel and stalks towards the couch. 

Steve seems to have slept through their little spat, and Bucky sits down beside him with fondness bubbling up inside him, Brock's attitude temporarily forgotten. Steve looks so peaceful, and Bucky feels almost guilty when he shakes Steve's shoulder gently.

"Steve," Bucky whispers, and Steve snuffles a bit in response. "Stevie, you gotta get up."

Steve finally cracks an eye open, a sleepy smile on his face when he catches sight of Bucky. Unable to help himself, Bucky scratches lightly at Steve's scalp, earning a happy little wiggle. 

"Hey, Buck," Steve murmurs. He reaches up to grasp Bucky's wrist, his thumb rubbing light circles in the sensitive flesh. "Didn't realise I'd fallen asleep."

"We both did," Bucky replies, nodding at the windows. "It's already dark out."

"Ah, shit," Steve groans, and Bucky shuffles away to give him space as he sits up. "Damn, Buck, I'm sorry. Kinda wasted your whole day, didn't I?"

"Nah," Bucky says, probably a bit too fondly, rising to his feet. "If it weren't for you I probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed."

Steve chuckles and stands up, stretching his back out with a soft groan. "I should probably get outta your hair, then."

"Yeah, you should." Brock finally speaks up from where he's lurking at the front door, and Bucky shoots him a glare. Brock has his arms crossed over his chest and is positively glowering at them. 

"Steve," Bucky says, his voice even, "this is my boyfriend, Brock. Brock, this is Steve."

"Nice to meet you," Steve says politely, but when Bucky looks up at him his eyes are wary. 

"Can't say the same," Brock sneers, and Bucky bristles. 

"Enough," he snaps. "Brock, wait for me in the bedroom, please?"

With one final glower Brock stalks off, almost slamming the bedroom door behind him. As soon as the door's closed Bucky lets out a breath, turning back to Steve.

"I'm really sorry about him," Bucky says quietly, glancing back at the bedroom. "I've never seen him like this before."

"Hey," Steve says gently, resting a hand on Bucky's elbow. "It's not your fault. Sometimes people have shitty days." Steve's hands slide to Bucky's hips and he's pulled in for a hug, Steve's cheek pressed against his forehead. Bucky sighs contentedly, pressing his nose to the curve of Steve's neck and winding his arms around Steve's waist, letting himself be lulled by the steady beat of Steve's heart.

"I know," Bucky sighs, his voice a bit muffled. "I should go calm him down. He's probably just stressed."

"Call me later?" 

Bucky huffs out a laugh and, without thinking about it, raises himself onto his toes to press a kiss to Steve's cheek. He can't bring himself to regret it when he pulls away and Steve's looking at him in naked wonder.

"Sure thing, Stevie."

Steve grins and steps away, turning to wiggle into his shoes and jacket, and Bucky feels a strange chill as soon as those arms are gone from his body. Giving one last dorky wave, Steve opens the door and slips out, closing it quietly behind him. Bucky lets out a breath and closes his eyes, steeling himself, then turns and stalks towards the bedroom, hesitating only for a second before opening the door and walking in.

Brock's pacing across the room like some kind of cartoon character, but he stops as soon as Bucky steps in.

"The hell took you so long?" he snaps, and all thoughts of civility fly from Bucky's head as he meets the confrontation head-on.

"I was saying goodbye," Bucky snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y'know, being polite. Something that _you_ were not."

"You expect me to be polite to that snake?" Brock snarls. "You think I should be _polite_ to the guy who looks at my boyfriend like he's a piece of meat?"

"Steve is my _friend_ ," Bucky hisses, stepping forward. "Nothing more. You don't know him - you can't judge him for things that you think you see."

"That I _think_ I see?" Brock repeats angrily. He stalks forward and grabs Bucky by the arms, holding almost too tight. "Why the hell are you being so defensive about this? That man looks at you like he wants to eat you alive, and you look right fucking back - forgive me if I'm not comfortable with that!"

"You think I'd even _think_ of looking at someone else?" Bucky asks faintly. Memories of that morning flash, unbidden, in his mind, and he wrenches himself out of Brock's grip, taking several steps back. "You - what, you think I'd cheat on you?"

Brock snorts derisively, his eyes blazing. "I'm gone for a single fucking day and find you snuggling up to some _guy_ on our couch. Why shouldn't I think that maybe he fucked you in our bed, too?"

Bucky swallows, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes. When he speaks, his voice wobbles. "I'm going to Sam's place. Call me when you find some fucking common sense."

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the bedroom, grabbing his wallet and phone from the kitchen table and shrugging on his coat, shoving his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them up. When he leaves the apartment and the door closes behind him, he hears a shout and the sound of breaking glass from inside, and has to blink back tears as he hurries off towards the stairwell.

\------

Sam's house is a half-hour drive away, so Bucky takes a taxi. He's not in the mood to deal with the subway, and honestly, the sooner he gets to the cheerful little brownstone, the better. Because of traffic, the taxi doesn't pull up to Sam and Riley's house until almost seven-thirty, and Bucky blindly hands the guy money before getting out, shivering at the cold. Sam and Riley live in an old brownstone that's been divided up into three apartments - they have the bottom floor (since Riley can't exactly get upstairs without an elevator), and the other two floors are occupied by a family of four and an elderly couple who'd immigrated from somewhere in Eastern Europe. As Bucky gets closer to the front door he can hear music playing from inside and the sound of laughter, and his stomach clenches in guilt. Before he can second-guess himself, however, he's reaching out and knocking. The voices inside grow a bit quieter, and the sound of wheels on floorboards come closer until the door's swinging open and Riley's peering out at him, wrapped up in a soft thermal shirt with a blanket folded over his legs.

"Bucky? You alright?" he asks. Bucky takes a shaking breath, his eyes pricking with tears again. He'd managed to hold off on the waterworks for the cab ride, but now he's faced with a friend he can feel his hold slowly loosening.

"Brock and I had a fight," he manages to croak. "Can I crash here tonight?"

"Yeah, of course." Riley opens the door a bit wide and wheels himself out of the way, his eyes wide with concern. "C'mon - I accidentally made too much gumbo, I'll set you up a plate."

Bucky nods, unwilling to open his mouth again, and steps inside, kicking off his shoes in the foyer. Riley turns away and makes his way towards the kitchen, calling out, "Sammy, we got a guest!" as he goes. Bucky follows him and finds Sam pulling himself from the couch, a glass of wine in his hand. His eyes find Bucky almost immediately and the carefree look on his face is quickly replaced by worry.

"Bucky? What're you doing here so late?" He ushers Bucky over to the couch and sits him down almost aggressively, and Bucky resigns himself to his fate - the only person who can out-mother hen Sam Wilson is his mama Darlene, and Bucky's learned to just let it happen.

"Brock and I had a fight," he repeats, and Sam's face goes dark.

"Did he hurt you?"

Bucky immediately opens his mouth to say no, but then he remembers the way Brock gripped his arms. When he rolls up his sleeves, there are already hand-shaped bruises forming on his biceps.

"That bastard," Sam hisses, running a finger gently over one of the bruises. "That son of a _fucking_ bitch."

"Don't," Bucky whispers, pulling his sleeves back down. "It was my fault." Sam's eyes grow wide and concerned, but before he can ask anything Bucky says, "Can we talk about it later? Please?"

Sam closes his mouth and takes a deep breath, giving Bucky a reassuring smile. "Sure thing, man. You want something to drink?"

"Just some water, thanks," Bucky whispers. Sam squeezes his shoulders and stands up, walking over to the kitchen where Bucky can hear him softly talking to Riley. Closing his eyes, Bucky curls up with his knees pulled to his chest, not even bothering to stop himself from crying. God, he's exhausted, despite his five-hour nap that afternoon, and he doesn't even bother reaching for his phone when it starts buzzing in his pocket, instead just leaving it where it is until the vibrations stop.

A sudden warmth presses against his side, and Bucky opens his eyes to see Riley's hoisted himself out of his wheelchair and onto the couch beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Bucky gladly leans into the comfort, burying his face in Riley's soft shirt and breathing in the smell of spices that always seems to linger around him. Riley lets him fall apart, patiently running his hand through Bucky's hair and not saying a word. When the shaking of Bucky's shoulders has finally stopped, Riley lets go and reaches for something on the coffee table.

"Eat," Riley says gently, pressing a bowl full of rice and gumbo into Bucky's hands, a slice of homemade bread resting on the rim. "Then we can talk."

Bucky nods numbly and starts to eat, slowly realising how hungry he'd been when he ends up almost licking the bowl clean. At some point Sam had sat down next to them, placing a glass of water on the coffee table, and by the time Bucky's finished, he's feeling a bit less like he's about to break apart. Setting the now-empty bowl back down, Bucky takes a deep breath and turns to face Sam and Riley.

"We'd had plans to spend the day together," he starts quietly, his voice still croaky. "But when I woke up he was gone - another _work emergency_." Bucky huffs, flicking his hair out of his face. "I ended up calling Steve, and we went out to breakfast and he ended up coming back to my place to watch some movies. We fell asleep on the couch, and we only woke up when Brock had come home." Bucky swallows, feeling shame swirl back up and try to choke him. "Brock accused me of cheating on him."

"How the hell did he come to that conclusion?" Sam asks in bewilderment.

"Steve's a tactile guy," Bucky mumbles, feeling his face heat up. "And Brock had never met him before. I guess he'd had a bad day, and wasn't feeling like himself. I shouldn't have set him off like that."

"It's not your fault, Bucky," Riley says, eyebrows furrowed. "You did nothing wrong - Brock's the one at fault here."

"I tried to keep my cool," Bucky whispers, drawing in on himself again. "But Brock was just... he treated Steve like _shit_ , y'know? And Steve's a _really_ great guy - he didn't deserve that."

"Bucky..." Sam starts hesitantly. "If Brock's reacted like this to something so small, do you really think it's best to stay with him?"

Bucky frowned, sitting up a bit straighter. "I love him. He loves me, too - this was just... just a freak fight."

"Bucky, he _hurt_ you," Sam says worriedly. "He tried to control your _life_. You really think that's normal?"

"He's trying," Bucky whispers, feeling tears well up again. "I know you don't like him, Sam, but he's not a bad guy. He's just _trying_."

Sam opens his mouth as if to argue, but Riley turns and gives him a look that makes Sam's mouth click shut again.

"It's been a long day," Riley says, wrapping an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "You want us to set up the guest room for you?" 

Bucky nods, and Sam gets up from the couch and makes his way down the hall and out of sight. With a quiet sigh, Riley turns back to Bucky with an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry about him," Riley says gently. "He just gets worried."

"I know," Bucky sighs, resting his head on Riley's shoulder. "It's alright. It just doesn't feel good, when your best friend hates your boyfriend, y'know?"

"Not really," Riley shrugs, and Bucky lets out a small laugh. Giving him a small smile, Riley continues, "but it must suck."

"Yeah," Bucky mumbles, and Riley squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

"What'd you say to Brock, before you left?" Riley asks after a minute.

"Told him to call me when he pulled his head outta his ass," Bucky says, and Riley barks out a laugh. 

"That's my boy. Let's get you into some clean clothes."

\-----

It's when Bucky's all set up in the guestroom a few hours later, wearing an old pair of Sam's sweatpants and his hair swept back into a loose braid, with a mug of tea in his hand that he remembers to call Steve. Dimming the bedside light, Bucky settles himself more comfortably against the headboard and reaches for his phone, wincing as soon as he sees his unanswered texts.

_Brock: 3 missed calls  
Brock: ok i get it ur pissed  
Brock: stop being so dramatic and come home  
Brock: y r u ignoring me??  
Brock: im sorry ok?  
Brock: 1 missed call  
Brock: James pick up ur damn phone_

Bucky stares at the texts for a few minutes, before ultimately ignoring them. He's not in the right headspace to try and talk to Brock, and it was already late. Instead, he brings up Steve's contact and presses call. As usual, it only rings a few times before Steve's picking up.

"For a second there I thought you'd forgotten to call," Steve says teasingly, and Bucky immediately feels himself relax. "You okay?"

"Just tired," Bucky sighs, getting a bit more comfortable. "Brock and I kinda went off at each other."

"What?" Immediately Steve's voice sounds worried. "Are you okay? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine, Steve," Bucky says, a small smile making its way onto his face. "I walked out on him. I'm staying with Sam and his husband until Brock apologizes."

"What did he say?"

Bucky swallows, remembering the words spat at him from Brock's lips. _That man looks at you like he wants to eat you alive, and you look right fucking back._ "Just some bullshit."

Steve's quiet for a few seconds. "Can I Facetime you?"

The thought of seeing Steve's face, even if it's just through his phone, is enough to make Bucky feel flooded with relief. "Please."

"I'll be right back," Steve promises, before hanging up. Bucky waits patiently with his phone in his lap, and when Steve's Facetime call comes up he immediately clicks answer.

Steve looks like he's in bed too; he's lying on his stomach and propped up on his arms, the sheets pooled around his waist and no shirt in sight. Bucky's mouth immediately goes dry, and he has to concentrate to stop ogling Steve's biceps and back muscles.

"Hey," Steve says quietly, his eyes crinkling. 

"Hey," Bucky echoes, unable to keep a neutral face when Steve's looking at him like that. "You get home okay?"

Steve huffs a laugh. "Yes, Buck, I managed to not die or receive grievous injury in the fifteen minutes it took for me to get back to my apartment."

"Hey, I was just checking," Bucky protests, but his own smile betrays him. "You're a wily one, Rogers - I wouldn't put it past you to get into trouble as soon as I take my eyes off you."

"My ma used to say the exact same thing," Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "She always thought I liked getting in trouble too damn much."

"Used to?" Bucky questions softly, and his suspicions are confirmed when Steve's eyes turn sad.

"She died when I was sixteen," he says quietly. "Breast cancer."

Bucky nods, feeling his lips twist into a wry smile. "Mine too. Three years ago."

Steve sighs, closing his eyes. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Bucky whispers, sliding down the bed to rest his head against the pillows. "Sucks."

Steve opens his eyes, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. The dim light in his room draws shadows across his face.

"I had fun today," Bucky says softly. "With you."

Steve's lips curve into a sweet smile. "Me too. You're a great snuggle buddy."

Bucky lets out an ugly snort, but he can't keep the smile off his face. "You too. Seems all those muscles are good for something after all."

Steve chuckles, but his eyes stay fixed to Bucky's, his gaze strangely intense. It makes Bucky want to start squirming, to have Steve looking at him like that, but not in a bad way. "You kissed my cheek when you said goodbye," Steve murmurs.

Bucky swallows, remembering the feeling of that soft skin against his lips, covered by a thin layer of stubble. "Did it make you uncomfortable?"

Steve shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on Buckys. "I liked it." Steve blushes then, his gaze dropping. "I like it when you touch me. It's... comforting."

"I liked it too," Bucky whispers. "Can I... keep doing it?"

"Yeah, Buck," Steve breathes, his eyes dark. "As long as you let me do it, too."

The thought of Steve's lips on his skin is enough to make arousal start to pool in Bucky's gut, and he has to shift a bit to get comfortable. "I'd like that."

Steve lets out a breath then, his eyebrows furrowing in what looks to be frustration. "Shit, Buck, I... I gotta go."

"Okay," Bucky breathes out, suddenly painfully hard in his pants. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Please." Steve's tongue flicks out, licking his lips, and Bucky watches the movement helplessly. "Bye, Bucky," Steve says softly, then his face is gone and Bucky's left looking at his own, flushed reflection. Not even pausing to think about it, Bucky's throwing his phone to the side and sliding a hand down his pants, his breathing heavy and thoughts of Steve Rogers flowing through his mind.

\------

Bucky has Sam drop him home the next day, waving off Sam's concerns and promising to call him later, before making the trek up to his apartment. Brock's sitting on the couch, unshaven and dressed in yesterday's clothes, with dark circles under his eyes, and as soon as he sees Bucky he's shooting out of his seat.

"I called," Brock croaks out. "You didn't pick up."

"I didn't," Bucky agrees, hanging his jacket up. "I... I needed time."

Brock lets out a sigh, raking his hand over his face. "Fuck, I don't blame you." He looks out from between his fingers, and Bucky takes a step forward when he realises Brock's crying. "Bucky," Brock walks towards him, but stops when there are a few feet between them. "I'm so sorry." His face crumples, and before Bucky knows what he's doing he's surging forward to take Brock in his arms, tears springing to his own eyes as Brock clings to him and sobs.

"Why would you say the things you said?" Bucky whispers, clutching Brock tighter. "You _know_ I'd never do that, I'd never hurt you like that."

"I know, I know," Brock babbles, his face buried in Bucky's neck. "I was scared, baby - I was so scared, and I was stressed, and I took it out on you." He looks up, then, cupping Bucky's face in his hands. " _Please_ , Jamie, don't leave me."

Bucky takes a shaky breath in. "As long as you _promise_ never to pull shit like that again."

Brock's already nodding, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses across Bucky's cheeks, across his forehead, his nose, his lips. "I promise, baby. I'll never do it again."

Bucky lets out a small sob and smashes their mouths together, whimpering when Brock's tongue slides into his mouth and Brock's hands slide down his body. It's probably a bad idea, but fuck, Bucky's so relieved that he lets Brock carry him to bed and fuck him hard, desperately, until Bucky's sobbing.

When Steve tries to call him, Bucky declines the call and texts _Can't talk today - Brock and I made up._

\-----

When he wakes up, there's another body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Brock Rumlow and his manipulative ways...
> 
> Heaps of thanks to everyone on the shrunkyclunks bitches discord server, especially Ann, Ash, T and Kenz <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter today, but very plot-heavy.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include mentions of pedophilia, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. More information in the end notes.

Bucky gets the call at three in the goddamned morning, his phone blaring from its spot on the bedside table. Brock's curled around his back, and as soon as the ringing starts he's groaning and pressing his face into the space between Bucky's shoulder blades, his arms tightening their grip around Bucky's waist.

"Don't answer," he grumbles, his voice muffled. Bucky ignores him, fumbling to pick up the phone, his heart suddenly racing when he realises who's calling.

"Hill?"

"Barnes." She sounds out of breath. "We need you at the precinct, now. We found another body."

Suddenly Bucky's wide awake, sitting up in bed and nudging Brock to the side. "Are you sure it's him?"

"Unless we've got a copycat on our hands? Almost certain." She sounds grim. "I just called Wilson, he should be on his way to your place."

"Copy that." Bucky hangs up briskly and slides out of bed, opening the closet and sliding into the first pair of pants he sees.

"What's going on?" Brock slurs from his spot on the bed. Bucky yanks a shirt over his head and walks back over, pressing a kiss to Brock's forehead.

"Work emergency. They need me," he whispers. "Go back to sleep - I'll be back soon."

Brock grumbles and reaches out, clumsily patting Bucky's face before rolling over, his breaths soon evening out into snores. Slipping his phone into his back pocket, Bucky hurries out of the bedroom.

Sam picks him up ten minutes later, eyes bloodshot and two large keep-cups of coffee in the centre console. Bucky immediately grabs one and takes a sip, sighing happily as the warm liquid floods his mouth.

"God bless you," he sighs, and Sam snorts.

"God ain't got nothing to do with it - Riley refused to let me leave without something for the road."

"As far as I'm concerned, Wilson, your husband _is_ God," Bucky mumbles into his cup, earning a snort of laughter from his partner.

"What'd Hill tell you?" Sam asks after a beat.

"Pretty much nothing," Bucky admits, settling back into his seat. "She told me our killer's struck again, and that we're needed at the station."

"Same here," Sam sighs. "Must be real important, if they can't wait until the morning to catch us up."

The remainder of the drive is spent in silence, Sam not even bothering to turn on any music. Bucky amuses himself by staring out the window at the city, still so bright even in the middle of the night, sipping at his coffee. They pull up to the police station after only fifteen minutes, and from there they're ushered through the building and into a conference room, where they're awaited by Stark, Hill, Danvers, Banner and Fury.

"For once, I'm not the last to arrive," Stark snarks, and Banner rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, because you never went to bed in the first place."

"Can we focus?" Hill snaps. "Another body's been found."

"We gathered that," Bucky says, sitting down in the closest chair. "Who's the vic?"

Danvers' eye twitches. "A low-profile politician by the name of Stern, who just got acquitted on charges of child sexual abuse."

"Another criminal," Sam murmurs, pulling one of the photos on the table towards him. The photo shows a middle-aged, balding man stripped naked, his skin white and body bloated and that damn star shining in red on his chest.

"He was found in the water?" Bucky asks in surprise, reaching out to trace his fingers over the picture.

"Yeah - a couple of people on the Hudson found him about half an hour ago," Banner says.

"Our killer's never dumped his bodies before," Bucky murmurs.

"That's what I was thinking about, too," Danvers says, her eyebrows furrowed. "We're not too sure of how he died yet, but I'm guessing blunt force trauma to the head. There's a big wound on the back of his skull," here, she slides another photo across the table, showing a bloody, hairy mess that Bucky recognises faintly as the back of a head. "Maybe someone else came along and our killer had to dispose of the body quickly - I'm not sure."

"And we're sure it's not a copycat?" Sam asks.

"Almost certainly," Danvers responds. "The carving - it's made by the same damn thing that made the rest of them. Stark - have you found anything on it yet?"

"Why do you think I was up at three in the morning?" Stark asks sarcastically. "I've got it narrowed down, at least. It took me a damn month to figure out the material of whatever that weapon is - vibranium."

"Vibranium?" It's Fury who speaks up now, having remained silent for most of the discussion. "That's one of the rarest metals in the world, and as far as we know, it only comes from one place - why the hell are we seeing it in the hands of a Brooklyn serial killer?"

"How the hell should I know?" Stark snaps. "What I _do_ know is that this bastard's somehow got his hands on some, and is using it to carve open the chests of pedophiles."

"Maybe we should call in an expert," Hill murmurs. "I've got contacts in Wakanda - maybe I could pull some strings, have the princess come in and take a look at it -"

"I'm sorry, you think a _teenage girl_ can identify this thing better than I can?" Stark sneers, his lips twisted. 

"I _think_ ," Hill says curtly, drawing herself up to her full height, "that you forget your place here, Stark. Speak with respect, or I'll escort you out of here myself."

Stark looks like he's about to argue, but Banner rests a hand on his arm and he falls silent, instead levelling a glare at Hill that could cut glass.

"I'm guessing no evidence has been found with the body," Bucky sighs, and Banner grimaces.

"We haven't had a chance to look it over, but I sincerely doubt that anything would have stuck after a couple of hours in the Hudson."

"I'll send out some beat cops to scout as soon as I can," Fury says, his eyebrows furrowed. "Barnes, Wilson, I'll need you here, going over what we have. This is the fourth body in three months - we need to get on this fast, before anyone else is killed."

"What about the media?" Danvers presses. "It won't be long before word gets out to them - what then? If they don't hear it from us, it could cause a frenzy."

"I'll have to go to the Commissioner, talk to him about this," Fury admits. "I don't have the authority to release a statement, even though it's my precinct that's investigating."

"You trust Pierce?" Hill snorts. "That man's got his fingers in more pies than anyone I know - it could make this situation even worse."

"I don't have any other options, Sergeant," Fury sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I'll contact Potts in public relations, see if she can help."

"I should get to the morgue," Banner says, rising from his seat. "I've called in Foster from forensics - maybe she'll find something I can't."

"Of course," Fury nods. "You're all dismissed. Barnes, Wilson, come with me."

Bucky exchanges a look with Sam but obediently follows Fury out of the conference room and into his office. Fury closes the door behind them and sits heavily behind his desk, rubbing his temples.

"Both of you, have a seat." Sam and Bucky sit in the two chairs opposite Fury, and Bucky has to shift a bit to get comfortable. 

"Sir, I know you want us to stay here and look over what we have, but I feel like it'd be more beneficial to the case if Sam and I were to go out and talk with the victim's family, close friends, that kind of stuff," Bucky speaks up, causing Fury to turn that sharp eye onto him. "The beat cops aren't experienced enough in this kind of stuff, and you know how blunt they can be."

"I'm well aware," Fury says sharply, but he says everything sharply, so Bucky doesn't take offence. "But I do need you two here. I'll send Romanov and Barton out - they can put aside their weird little violent courtship and be professionals for a few hours."

"With all due respect, sir," Sam begins carefully, leaning forward in his seat, "why do you need us here so badly?"

Fury hesitates for a second. "The board of directors wants to send the case to major crimes. They believe that it's too big for a couple of Brooklyn detectives to figure out on their own."

Bucky immediately bristles. "That's bullshit! They can't take this case away from us - we've been working nonstop for months!"

"That's what I said," Fury sighs. "But they're being real persistent. I've managed to hold them off so far, but with another body, I'm not sure how much more time I can give you. If you manage to find something big then maybe, just maybe, they'll reconsider."

Bucky glances over at Sam, who's got his eyebrows furrowed. Under the table, Bucky can see his leg bouncing.

"Guess I'll put some coffee on, then," Bucky sighs, rising from his chair with a wince.

"I'll try to help out as much as I can," Fury assures him, levelling Bucky with a look. "You two are some of my best detectives - I'm confident that you'll figure something out."

"You got it, Captain."

"Dismissed."

\-----

Bucky's pulled from his research-induced hyper-fixation sometime around eleven by his phone buzzing on the table. Deciding to take a break from the words that are beginning to float off the screen, he reaches over to grab his phone and check the messages. There are two from Brock, one from Riley asking him how he's feeling, and one from Steve.

_Brock: everything ok?  
Brock: when r u coming home?_

_Idk_ , Bucky texts back. _probs not until late._

The text from Steve is simple; _you wanna grab coffee later?_

Bucky has to smile at that; even after being blown off yesterday, Steve's still a sweetheart. _I'd love to, but I'm caught up at work. Idk how long I'll be here._

Almost immediately, Bucky sees the dots come up on the screen to show Steve is typing.

_I can drop into your work and bring you some lunch from the deli, if you want._

Suddenly having to blink back tears, Bucky replies, _you'd do that?_

_I told you, Buck_ , Steve's reply comes quickly, _I'm gonna treat you right. What time suits best?_

_around 1?_

_You got it, Buck. Want me to pick up anything for your partner, too?_

"Hey," Bucky says to Sam, who blearily looks up from his computer screen. "Steve's bringing me lunch. You want anything?"

"I have no fucking clue who this guy is, Barnes, but _keep him_ ," Sam pleads, his eyes wide. "Also tell him that I most certainly want something, as long as it doesn't have mustard."

"'Kay," Bucky replies absently, already typing out an answer to Steve. _I think Sam thinks you're some kind of saint. Literally get him anything as long as it doesn't have mustard. I'll pay you back later._

_You don't need to pay me back, Buck. I like spoiling you._

Bucky bites his lip, feeling his cheeks heat up. _I'll see you at 1, Stevie._

_Bye Buck <3 _

"He must be some kind of special if he gets you to smile like that," Sam hums, and when Bucky looks up Sam's watching him, a smile on his lips.

"He is," Bucky replies honestly, and Sam's eyes crinkle.

Steve arrives a few minutes before one, a large paper bag in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other. As soon as he sees Bucky he's beaming, making his way towards them through the crowded ball pit. Bucky rises from his seat to take the coffees, and after he's put them down on the desk Steve's scooping him up for a hug, almost lifting him off his feet. Bucky shrieks with laughter and clings to Steve's arms, giving one bicep a smack as soon as he's set back on the ground.

" _Never_ do that again," Bucky says, but the giant grin on his face probably contradicts that. 

"You don't like me sweeping you off your feet?" Steve teases. He swoops down to smack a kiss to Bucky's cheek before turning to put the paper bag down, and Bucky has a couple of seconds to regain control of his breathing.

"Not the phrasing I'd use," Bucky says, but it's a bit too breathless to be joking. From his seat, Sam loudly clears his throat.

"I believe I was promised food?" he says.

"Coffee too," Steve replies, taking one of the cups from the tray and handing it over. "I'm told you like caramel lattes?"

"Have you been spilling my secrets, Barnes?" Sam asks, cradling the cup to his chest like it's a treasured possession. 

"Only the ones that matter," Bucky retorts. "Sam, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this is my partner, Sam Wilson."

"I've been told a lot about you, Steven," Sam says, taking a lofty sip of his latte. Steve sits down in the chair they always keep next to their shared desks, tossing Sam a wrapped sandwich.

"Oh yeah?" Steve asks, grinning cheekily over at Bucky. "What about me?"

"Most of it's about the width of your shoulders and biceps," Sam says casually, causing Bucky to choke on his mouthful of chai. "Always thought Bucky was exaggerating, but nope, your body's really like that."

"Well, Bucky _does_ seem to like my muscles," Steve says, more than a little smugly.

"They're good for cuddling, Steve, you know this," Bucky snaps. He can't keep the smile off his face when Steve nudges his foot with his own. 

Reaching for the bag, Bucky rifles through, grabbing a sandwich and unwrapping it. There's a lot more food than he was expecting - a container of potato salad, two extra sandwiches, and a couple of chocolate bars are also in the bag.

"You expecting to feed the whole precinct, Stevie?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. Steve blushes and ducks his head, reaching for his coffee and taking a gulp.

"You said you didn't know how long you'd be here," he mumbles. "Thought I'd get enough for dinner, too, if you don't get home before then."

" _Dude_ , you didn't have to do that," Sam exclaims, but he sounds a bit choked up.

Steve shrugs, still looking a bit self-conscious. "I wanted to. And besides," now his eyes turn playful, "I do owe Bucky for crashing on his couch without permission."

"You weren't the only one who crashed," Bucky reminds him, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. The taste of prosciutto and tomato floods his mouth, along with a strong, smoky cheese that he can't quite put his finger on. "You make a very nice blanket."

"Glad to be of service," Steve murmurs, and Bucky kicks him playfully.

Steve doesn't end up staying for long; Sam and Bucky still have pages and pages of research to get through, and Steve's got a meeting with a potential buyer at two, so he ends up leaving after only fifteen minutes, with a handshake from Sam and a peck on the cheek from Bucky. It's only when Steve's disappeared into the elevator that Sam turns to him, an eyebrow raised and a quirk to his lips.

"So," he says conversationally, leaning back in his chair. "Kissing. That's a thing you two do now?"

Bucky feels heat flood to his cheeks and he immediately ducks his head to focus back on his computer screen. "Like I said. Steve's a tactile guy."

"Sure he is," Sam hums. "It's got nothing to do with the fact that your face is as red as a firetruck."

"Shut up," Bucky says, his eyes suddenly glued to the screen.

"I'm serious, Bucky, the heat radiating from your face right now -"

"No, Sam, shut up," Bucky interrupts, excitement suddenly bubbling up inside him. "I think I found something."

Immediately Sam's shooting out of his chair and coming around to look at Bucky's screen. "What is it?"

"There's a connection between these victims," Bucky says. "The Morwell brothers were part of a gang, yeah, but they'd been connected to a man called Wilson Fisk, who's some kind of super shadowy mob boss. Fisk, in turn, has been known to do dealings with Grant Ward - our third victim."

"The Hydra member," Sam murmurs, his eyes widening. "You think every one of these victims is somehow connected to Hydra?"

"Stern wasn't just some paedophile," Bucky continues, feeling a little manic. "I've been reading over his trial - the only reason he got acquitted was because he paid his way out of prison; there's so much evidence here that the case was almost foolproof. One of the items of evidence seized from his apartment was a small pin with the Hydra insignia - the only reason it wasn't shown in court was because the judge ruled it to not be relevant to the charges."

"Stern was Hydra," Sam breathes. "So whoever the next victim is -"

"They're going to be Hydra, too."

\------

Bucky doesn't get home until late that night, almost stumbling through the front door of his apartment from exhaustion. Brock's sitting on the couch watching a baseball game, but he turns it off as soon as Bucky falls onto the couch beside him, pressing his face into Brock's thighs.

"Hey, baby," Brock coos, running a hand through Bucky's hair. "You're back late."

"I know, 'm sorry," Bucky mumbles, kissing the denim-clad leg under his mouth. "Fury needed all hands on deck."

"What's got you so stressed these past few months?" Brock asks softly. "You haven't been yourself for a while."

Bucky sighs and turns into Brock's touch. Technically he's not meant to talk about an open investigation with anyone other than those who are working with him, but... Brock's his boyfriend, and he deserves an explanation as to why Bucky's been gone so much.

"Sam and I've got a string of murders we're looking into," Bucky says. "We think it's a serial killer."

Brock's hand pauses in its petting. "Is that why you left in the middle of the night?"

"Another body was found," Bucky says quietly. "The fourth in just a couple of months."

"No wonder you've been so stressed," Brock murmurs. "You eaten yet, baby?"

"Yeah. Steve came in at midday, dropped off enough food for lunch and dinner."

"You saw Steve today?" Brock asks, his voice deceptively casual. "I thought you'd gotten over that."

"Brock," Bucky sighs. He rolls onto his back to look up at Brock, reaching out to trace across Brock's stubbled jaw. "We talked about this."

"I know," Brock assures him. "But... I don't trust him, Jamie. I don't think it's a good idea to keep him around."

"He's my friend," Bucky reminds him. "I know you don't like him, but I'm not gonna stop seeing him just because you met him once and got a bad vibe."

"Okay, baby," Brock says, but it sounds more like he's placating him, his voice more than a little condescending. He leans down and brushes his lips across Bucky's forehead, and Bucky reluctantly lets his eyes flutter closed. "Let's get you in the shower, then. We can have an early night."

"Okay."

He lets Brock lead him into the bathroom and remove their clothes, stepping into the shower when he's told. It's rare that Brock is this gentle with him, and Bucky sighs happily when Brock's arms encircle him from behind, rubbing his hips gently and pressing kisses to Bucky's neck. When they step out, Brock dries him while rolling his hips into Bucky's ass, his erection prominent and pressing against Bucky's hole.

"Brock, I'm not really in the mood tonight," Bucky whispers when Brock's hands slide down to cup his cock. "I just wanna sleep."

"You've been gone all day, baby," Brock murmurs, kissing his earlobe. "And you know how much I don't like Steve, but you saw him today anyway. You know how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry," Bucky sighs, feeling guilt rise up inside him. "I never meant to hurt you."

"It's alright, sweet boy." Brock's hands slide around, rubbing at Bucky's hole. "But you think that you can give me this? Make me feel better?"

Bucky's already nodding, and Brock turns him around to kiss him roughly, using his grip on Bucky's jaw to keep his mouth open so Brock can lick into it. 

"You gonna let me have this ass tonight? Show me that you're mine?"

"Yes, Brock," Bucky whispers. Brock kisses him again and pushes him towards the bedroom, arranging Bucky on the bed so his ass is in the air and his chest is pressed against the mattress. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to relax into it, but Brock's fingers are rough and too dry inside him, and he doesn't open him up enough before pressing in with a single thrust. Bucky muffles his yelp of pain in the pillow, listening to Brock's groans as he splits Bucky open on his cock.

When Brock's finished he curls up around Bucky's body, and his breathing evens out into snores after only a minute or so. Bucky's still soft against his thigh, having never even gotten hard - but this was about Brock, about making him feel better. He deserved to have this - so what if Bucky will be walking funny for the next few days?

Bucky presses his face into the pillow and tries to ignore the throbbing in his ass and the slightly sick feeling in his stomach, Brock's arms feeling more like restraints than comfort. He doesn't get to sleep for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- Another victim of the murders is a senator who'd been acquitted on charges of child sexual abuse
> 
> \- Brock tries to gaslight Bucky into not seeing Steve, and pressures Bucky into a sexual encounter he doesn't want to have
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying this so far! Next chapter, things will start heating up a bit more, so stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Everyone commenting is just absolutely making my day, thank you all so much! I usually don't reply to comments because I'm very bad at responding to praise, but I literally started crying reading the comments on the last chapter thank you all so much
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include attempted sexual assault, extremely dubious consent, unhealthy relationship dynamics and domestic abuse

**March**

Despite Brock's whispered cautions, Bucky can't seem to stop himself from seeing Steve; calling him and chatting for hours, texting late into the night, outings when neither of them are working. Bucky even visits Steve at work one day, and finally gets to see some of his work. One piece, a new one that's only just gone on display in Thor's gallery, is an abstract of swirling blues and greys, like the waves of the ocean on a stormy day. It makes Bucky's stomach flip, and when he asks Steve what it's about Steve just blushes and refuses to answer. 

If Bucky hoped that Brock would warm up to Steve, he's sadly disappointed. Brock's animosity towards Steve seems to grow with every passing week, and the rest of the winter is spent with Brock desperately trying to convince him to stop seeing Steve. It sets Bucky on edge, and since their spat in December they've had more fights than they've probably ever had in their relationship. More than once Bucky has found himself storming out of their apartment, only to crash in Sam and Riley's spare room or spend the night curled up on Steve's couch watching movies.

As winter turns into early spring, there hadn't been a body since Stern's had turned up in the middle of the Hudson, and the case has slowly grown cold. At this point, Sam and Bucky have exhausted every lead they've come across and done so much research that their brains are close to exploding, but unless another body or a critical piece of evidence turns up, they're stuck. Because of this, when Bucky asks to take the next Friday off for his birthday, Fury doesn't hesitate in giving it to him.

Bucky's never really made a big deal about his birthday. Most years he goes over to Sam and Riley's for dinner and has a lazy day in doing whatever the hell he wants - usually watching movies and eating take-out, but since Brock came into his life, most of his birthdays have also included lots of sex. This year, however, Brock can't get the day off - which isn't his fault, but Bucky still finds himself bitching to Steve about it in their next movie night together the week before his birthday.

"You're telling me he can get a day off to go see the baseball with his buddies, but he can't when it's something important to you?" Steve asks incredulously after Bucky's finished ranting. They're cuddling again, with Steve sitting with his legs outstretched on the couch and Bucky's back pressed to his chest, Steve's arms wrapped around Bucky's waist. They've been doing this more and more often since the incident back in December, Steve often picking Bucky up and using him like an oversized teddy bear, and Bucky plastering himself to Steve's side and pretending it's just because of the cold. They've got some crime thriller playing on the TV, but Bucky's not entirely sure what's going on in it, and he doubts Steve does either - it's mostly just turned into background noise for conversation.

"I know, right?" Bucky sighs, leaning his head back against Steve's shoulder. "He's been acting like an asshole the last few months - he's never around anymore, and when he is he's always finding some reason to pick a fight. I'm sick of it."

Steve slides his hands into Bucky's and gives them a reassuring squeeze. "Do you know what caused it?"

"He doesn't like me being around you," Bucky confesses softly, focusing on their joined hands. "He's got some kind of personal vendetta against you or something."

Behind him, Steve's quiet. "He's a dick, Buck. You shouldn't listen to a damn thing he says."

"He's my boyfriend," Bucky argues weakly. "He just gets protective, that's all."

Steve sighs, but Bucky feels the press of his lips against his head. "Since he's not going to be around, what are you doing for your birthday?"

"I dunno," Bucky confesses. "I'm probably just gonna hang around and do nothing. Sam and Riley are hosting after-work drinks and dinner the night before, though, and Natasha, Brock and Clint are going to be there. Do you wanna come?"

"This Thursday?" Bucky nods. "I'm sure I can sneak away from my very important job to drop in."

"Jerk," Bucky chuckles, smacking at one of the arms that encircle him. "It'd really mean a lot to me if you were there."

"You sure Brock will be comfortable to have me there?" Steve asks, and his voice is uneasy. "I don't wanna come between your relationship, Buck."

"Stevie," Bucky sighs, twisting around to look Steve in the eyes. "This isn't about Brock - I want you there. And yeah, he might be pissed, but he has no say in how I live my life. I'm not sleeping with you, and you make me happy, so why the hell should he care?"

Steve's cheeks go a bit pink. "If you're sure. It'd be nice to see Sam again."

"You left a pretty good impression on him," Bucky muses, settling back into his original position. "And Riley loves feeding people - with the amount you eat I bet he'll be more than happy to have you around."

"Then I gotta come, if this Riley cooks as well as you say he does."

That Wednesday, Bucky and Sam catch a ride with Nat and Clint to Sam's house straight from the precinct, arriving just before four. Riley's already in the kitchen, and the scent of cooking spices immediately fills Bucky's nostrils as soon as Sam opens the door.

"Birthday boy's arrived!" Sam calls out.

"Not my birthday yet," Bucky reminds him, and Clint huffs.

"Please. Everyone knows that the whole week of your birthday should be celebrated," he scoffs. 

"We're not ten anymore, Clint," Bucky replies, amused despite himself. 

"Your thirty-fourth birthday should be just as fun as your tenth birthday, in my opinion," Clint sniffs, then immediately perks up when Riley comes into view. "My favourite Wilson!" 

Not unlike his golden retriever, Clint bounds over and leans down to give Riley a very wet-sounding kiss on the cheek, causing Riley to chuckle. "Hey, Clint. There's a cheese platter in the kitchen; bring it out?"

Clint gives a little fist pump and shoots into the kitchen, causing Natasha to roll her eyes with more than a little fondness.

"I've never seen him run so fast for anything other than food," Sam marvels, giving his husband a soft kiss. 

"He also runs for sex," Natasha says offhandedly, and all eyes in the room swivel towards her.

"And why would you know such a thing, Romanov?" Sam asks slyly, and Natasha gives a graceful shrug of her shoulders.

"We've slept together. Many times."

"Are you... _together_?" Bucky asks hesitantly, and Natasha glares at him.

"No."

She doesn't elaborate.

"There's red wine on the counter," Riley offers, breaking the slightly awkward silence. "And white in the fridge."

Natasha nods and spins on her heel, striding towards the kitchen.

"When are the others getting here?" Sam asks, draping an arm over the back of Riley's chair as they make their way into the living room.

"Brock said he'd be here around four-thirty," Bucky replies. "Steve's coming about half an hour later."

"How'd you manage to swing that with Brock?" Sam asks curiously, dropping down onto the couch. "Doesn't he hate Steve's guts?"

"He doesn't know," Bucky admits, and Riley whistles.

"That's going to go well."

"What's gonna go well?" Clint asks, reappearing with an entire cheese platter in his hands. He sets it down on the coffee table and flops into an armchair, his legs up on the armrest. Natasha's behind him with a bottle of wine, several glasses balanced precariously in her other hand.

"Steve's coming, and Brock doesn't know about it," Sam replies. Natasha puts her spoils down and fills the glasses, handing them out before delicately perching herself on Clint's lap.

"I'm confident that Brock can behave himself," Bucky says loudly, rolling his eyes at Natasha's raised eyebrow and Clint's disbelieving look. "He can keep himself together for a few hours for my party."

"He'd better," Riley mutters, taking a sip of wine. "I'm going to check on the sausage rolls."

"Homemade sausage rolls?" Clint asks, his eyes huge. 

"You think my husband would ever use _store-bought_?" Sam asks with mock offence. "We are _civilised_ people in this house, Barton."

Riley rolls his eyes and squeezes Sam's hand, an exasperated smile on his face, before he turns and makes his way back into the kitchen. 

Brock, true to his word, shows up at four-thirty, still in his suit, and as soon as Bucky's within arm's reach he's being reeled in for a filthy kiss, Brock's hands sliding down to grip his ass.

"Keep it PG, fellas!" Sam calls out from the couch, and Brock breaks the kiss with a growl.

"You okay?" Bucky asks softly, reaching up to run his fingers through Brock's hair.

"Just happy to see you," Brock says, giving Bucky's ass a deliberate squeeze. Bucky chuckles, lacing their fingers together and leading Brock away from the door.

"C'mon, my caveman," he teases, tugging Brock along towards the living room. "You can say a proper hello once we get home."

"Sure I can't just take you home now?" Brock purrs, stopping Bucky with a hand on his hip. Bucky sighs quietly and turns, wrapping an arm around Brock's shoulders.

"I know you don't like my friends, but at least try to be civil?" Bucky pleads.

"It's not me who needs a lesson in civility," Brock huffs, but he still pulls Bucky close.

"If you get through the whole night without being rude, you can do whatever you want to me when we get home."

Sure, it's not Bucky's best idea, and the way Brock's eyes darken makes him regret even saying it, but then Brock's nodding silently and letting go with one last, possessive squeeze of Bucky's hips. Ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach Bucky takes Brock's hand again, and joins his friends on the couch.

By the time five o'clock rolls around Brock's loosened up, on his third glass of wine and with the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, laughing at some story Clint's telling. Bucky silently pats himself on the back for sitting the two of them together; Clint could charm the pants off anyone he meets, and Brock barely knows him; two things that would lessen a confrontation. Even Riley's relaxing, having allowed a slightly tipsy Sam to sweep him out of his wheelchair and onto his lap. They've gone through the cheese platter and half the plate of sausage rolls by the time the doorbell rings again, and Bucky presses a kiss to Brock's cheek before untangling himself from his embrace and making his way towards the front door. He can't stop the grin from taking over his face at the sight of Steve standing at the door, cheeks pink from the cold and hair sticking up every which way.

"You made it," Bucky says, stepping back so that Steve could get inside. Steve gives him a grin and shucks off his coat and shoes, putting them down before sweeping Bucky up in a hug.

"Course I did," Steve murmurs, and presses a kiss to Bucky's forehead. "Can't go standing my best guy up, can I?"

"Your best guy, huh?" Bucky teases, taking Steve's arm and leading him towards the living room. "Don't let Brock hear you say that."

"Shit, I forgot about that," Steve grimaces. "You're sure he won't make a scene?"

"Relax," Bucky reassures him. "He's three glasses in and more relaxed than I've seen him in months. He won't bother you." He doesn't mention the deal he and Brock had struck. "C'mon, lemme introduce you to the others."

As soon as they step into the living room Brock's stiffening up and glaring over at them, and Bucky sends him a warning look. Riley manages to extricate himself from Sam's arms and hoist himself back into his wheelchair, hauling Sam off the couch as he goes.

"Steve!" Sam cries, yanking Steve down into a hug. "It's good to see you again, man!"

"Yeah, you too," Steve replies, giving Bucky a bewildered look.

"He gets affectionate when he's drunk," Riley explains with a grin. "You get used to it."

"Steve, this is Riley," Bucky says when Sam's finally let go. 

"I've been told you're the chef around here," Steve says, reaching out to grip Riley's hand with a smile. 

"That's correct," Riley says, his eyes crinkling. "I've heard a lot about you, too."

"Riley," Bucky hisses, feeling his face grow hot. Riley chuckles and pats Bucky's hand.

"Calm down, sugarplum, I'm just messing with you. Steve, let's get you a drink." He starts wheeling towards the kitchen and Steve follows, giving Bucky a parting smile over his shoulder.

"You wanna go with them?" Sam murmurs. "Your boy isn't looking so happy." Sure enough, when Bucky glances over Brock's staring daggers at the kitchen, his posture stiff and jaw clenched.

"Can you calm him down?" Bucky pleads. "Please?"

"I'll try," Sam sighs, and pats Bucky's arm. "Grab another bottle while you're in there - we're gonna need it."

When he steps into the kitchen, Steve and Riley both look up from what seems to be a riveting conversation, both their eyes bright.

"Buck, you never told me that Riley used to be Air Force," Steve says, and Riley grins.

"And you never told me that Steve was Army."

"I didn't know you were in the military," Bucky says curiously, and Steve shrugs.

"Don't like talking about it all that much," he says quietly, and Riley places a hand on his arm.

"When did you come back?" Bucky asks, walking forward and tucking himself under Steve's arm. 

"Eight years ago," Steve replies softly. "Got injured during a mission and was discharged."

"You were injured, too?" Riley asks. Steve nods, tapping his ear.

"IED went off, killed half my squad. Got some shrapnel in my leg, went deaf in this ear." Steve glances down at Riley's wheelchair with a grimace. "I'm guessing you weren't so lucky?"

"Nope," Riley chuckles, taking a wine glass out of the cupboard and setting it on the bench. "Was flying a night mission, got knocked outta the sky and lost all feeling in my legs. I'm damn lucky that I'm not dead."

"You don't seem that messed up about it," Steve says cautiously. 

"Nah," Riley says cheerfully. "If it weren't for my accident, I never would've met Sam. And besides, I love my life. Yeah, it'd be nice to walk again, but I don't need it, y'know? I got everything I want right here."

"What do you do for work?" Steve asks. Bucky would think he's completely unaffected by the conversation if it weren't for the way he pulls Bucky just that bit closer.

"I'm a teacher, down at an elementary school near Prospect Park." Riley grabs a new bottle from the pantry and uncorks it, filling the glass and pushing it towards Steve. "Bucky tells me you're an artist?"

Steve starts to answer, but Bucky's focus is quickly pulled back towards the living room, where Brock and Sam are huddled together, talking in hushed whispers with glares on their faces.

"Shit," Bucky mumbles, and grabs the bottle off the counter. "I should deal with that." Steve gives him a squeeze before letting go, and Bucky shakes off the sudden chill to walk back into the living room. Sam sees him and immediately relaxes, and Bucky smiles in apology.

"Great, you got more wine," Sam says, the cheer in his voice slightly strained. "Steve and Riley getting along?"

"Bonding over shared life experience," Bucky replies, passing over the wine bottle. "They might be a while."

"Can I talk to you?" Brock asks stiffly. Without waiting for an answer he grabs Bucky by the arm and pulls him towards the hallway and into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

"You okay?" Bucky asks softly. Instead of answering, Brock's grip tightens and Bucky finds himself slammed against the wall, the breath getting knocked out of him. Brock presses up against him, his eyes blazing, and Bucky's words get caught in his throat.

"What is he doing here?" Brock asks, surprisingly casual for the way he's pinning Bucky to the wall.

"He's my friend," Bucky replies, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. "You promised you'd be civil."

"That's before I knew _he_ was coming!" Brock snarls, and Bucky can't help the gasp that leaves him in a rush. Brock closes his eyes and takes a breath, seemingly composing himself, and Bucky tries again.

"Please, Brock, I just want to have a nice night," he pleads softly. Brock's eyes darken again, and Bucky only has a second to regret opening his mouth before Brock's hand is fisted in his hair, yanking his head back.

"Then I guess I'd better show him just who you belong to," Brock growls, and fastens his lips to Bucky's neck. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to relax against Brock's body, hiding his winces every time Brock bites down a bit too hard and suppressing his shiver when he feels Brock's cock pressing up against his thigh. Before he knows what's happening Bucky's being forced to his knees, trapped between the wall and Brock's body as Brock starts undoing his pants.

"Brock-" Bucky starts, but he's cut off when Brock's cock is pressed into his mouth. It's too much too fast and Bucky chokes, automatically steadying himself with his hands on Brock's thighs, but Brock just pushes deeper.

"Gotta show _you_ who you belong to, too," Brock pants. He starts to fuck Bucky's face roughly, and the tears that slip down Bucky's face are only partially from the abuse to his throat. "You think I didn't see how you draped yourself all over him? Gotta remind you what's expected of you, honey. Can't have you thinking you're allowed to let him touch you."

With two more thrusts Brock's coming, his bitter seed spilling into Bucky's mouth for only a moment before he's pulling out and coming over Bucky's face, his hand furiously working at his cock. Bucky closes his eyes and tries desperately to catch his breath, a dribble of come sliding from his mouth. He'd swallow, but he feels like if he does, he'll puke.

"Who do you belong to, Jamie?" Brock finally pants. Bucky opens his eyes, his eyelashes clumping together from come and tears.

"You, Brock," he whispers shakily, and Brock pats his cheek roughly.

"Good boy. Get yourself cleaned up."

Then Brock does up his pants and smooths his hair back, opening the door and slipping out of sight. Bucky remains on his knees, trying desperately to get rid of the stinging behind his eyes.

\------

Bucky manages to pull himself together after a few minutes, washing his face and rinsing his mouth out and praying that the tearstains on his face and his tousled hair aren't obvious. He takes a seat on the couch next to Brock, and tries not to shudder when Brock's arm comes around him. Sam's watching him worriedly, and Natasha and Clint are glaring daggers at Brock, who's acting like nothing's wrong. Eventually, they're re-joined by Steve and Riley, who both immediately stiffen up at the atmosphere. The rest of the night is spent with stilted conversation, and Brock ends up convincing Bucky to leave early. 

The only saving grace is that Brock falls asleep immediately, leaving Bucky to stare up at the ceiling, unseeing, until sleep finally takes him.

\------

Bucky wakes to sunlight streaming through the windows and the buzzing of his phone. Brock's already gone, and his absence from the bed is enough to have Bucky relaxing with a soft sigh. Next to him, his phone is still going off, so Bucky reaches over to answer.

"Happy birthday!"

Bucky finds himself smiling, his eyes slipping closed. "Hello to you too, Steven. Might I ask why you're calling at nine in the morning?"

"Because I'm standing at your front door and I don't want to be out here any longer because your neighbours are starting to notice."

Bucky immediately shoots out of bed and stumbles out of the bedroom, flinging the front door open before realising he's only wearing an oversized shirt and some very skimpy underwear. Thankfully they hide everything that needs to be hidden, but the way Steve's mouth has dropped and his eyes have darkened hints that maybe Bucky should have put on some more clothes.

"Hey," Bucky says breathlessly. Steve makes a bit of a strangled noise, his face slowly turning redder and redder.

"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes glued somewhere around Bucky's legs. Bucky swallows against a suddenly dry throat and shifts a bit on the spot, biting his lip when he watches the way Steve's eyes follow the movement.

"Steve? You okay?"

Steve's eyes snap up to Bucky's face so quickly Bucky almost gets whiplash just from watching. "Yep!" Steve squeaks out. "Totally fine."

Bucky rolls his eyes and steps forward to wrap his arms around Steve's neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek in greeting. "Sure you are. Good morning to you too, by the way. You want something to eat?" He turns around and pads back into the apartment, listening to the sounds of Steve's footsteps behind him.

Steve says something that sounds suspiciously like _your ass_ before saying, "Just some coffee? I bought you breakfast."

Bucky turns back around to see Steve holding up a paper bag, and his heart softens. "Stevie, you didn't need to."

"It's your birthday, Buck," Steve protests. Seemingly having gotten over his minor freak-out, Steve puts the bag down on the table and walks into the kitchen, immediately turning on the coffee maker. "Sit down, I'll get you your coffee."

"You spoil me," Bucky mumbles, but he obediently sits at the island, watching Steve move around his kitchen like he's been doing it his whole life. It feels disgustingly domestic - something that Bucky's never felt around Brock.

"And I'm gonna spoil you more," Steve says cheerfully. "If you wanna do something other than sitting around here all day, I bought two all-day tickets to Coney Island."

"Are you serious?" Bucky asks, a smile creeping onto his face. Steve shrugs, focusing on the coffee maker, but Bucky can see his red cheeks and pleased smile.

"Thought it'd be fun," he says offhandedly. "I used to love Coney Island as a kid, and I may have talked to Riley about it last night and he told me to go for it."

Bucky's mood drops a bit at the thought of last night, and Steve's eyebrows furrow.

"Bucky?" Steve asks softly. "What... What happened, last night? When you and Brock went into the bathroom?"

Bucky swallows and turns away, but Steve's face hovers, concerned, in his mind's eye. "I think you already know the answer to that, Steve."

Steve lets out a breath and places a full cup of coffee in front of Bucky. "Did he force you?"

Bucky takes the cup and wraps both hands around it, the warmth seeping into his fingers. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

Steve walks almost silently around the island, his body moving between Bucky's legs and those big hands sliding up to rest on Bucky's hips, rucking up his shirt just enough to touch bare skin. Bucky leans forward until his head is pressing against Steve's chest and takes a deep breath, trying to dispel the panic.

"Bucky," Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off.

"Can we not talk about this now? Please?"

Steve sighs, but Bucky feels a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. "I just wanna know if you're okay."

Bucky looks up then, reaching to cradle Steve's face in his hands, and Steve turns his head to brush his lips over Bucky's palm. "I am now you're here," Bucky says honestly, and Steve's face crumples. "You said you'd look out for me, right?"

Steve lets out a shaky breath and pulls Bucky close, almost lifting him out of his seat. "I'll always have your back, Buck. Always."

Bucky closes his eyes and silently pulls himself together, willing the lump in his throat back down until it feels less like it's choking him. When he finally pulls away, he's pretty confident he doesn't look like he's about to cry.

"So, Coney Island?"

\-------

Coney Island is amazing. They get there just past eleven to almost no crowds ("It's a weekday in March, Buck, of course there's hardly anyone around.") and spend the first couple of hours walking around, trying their hand at arcade games. It turns out that Steve has a very accurate throwing hand, but can't shoot to save his life. Somehow, he still ends up winning Bucky a very large, very ugly pink stuffed rabbit that Bucky immediately names Roger, much to Steve's dismay. Bucky, on the other hand, manages to rack up a pile of small winnings, including a fidget spinner, a bouncy ball, a little stuffed bear, and a slinky, all of which he slips into Steve's pockets without the other man noticing.

Bucky somehow manages to convince Steve to go on a few rides with him - none of which Steve seems to enjoy that much, especially not after the five corndogs and stick of candy floss he'd scarfed down for lunch. The one ride Steve did seem to enjoy, however, was the wonder wheel, where Bucky had slipped their hands together and rested his head on Steve's shoulder. By the time it starts getting dark Steve's grabbing his hand and leading him out of the park and down to a hole-in-the-wall pizza place on the beach, that looks like it might be a front for the mob. They order a large pie to share, somehow managing to finish it, and when they're full and sated they curl up together in one of the small booths, side by side.

"I had a really great time today," Bucky whispers. He's got his ankle hooked around Steve's under the table, their sides pressed together. He can feel the heat of Steve's body through their clothes. "Thank you for this."

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulls him closer, and Bucky gladly leans into it with a sigh. "Course, Buck," Steve murmurs. "Not like it's a hardship, to hang out with a gorgeous guy for his birthday."

Bucky chuckles and rests his head in the crook of Steve's neck, feeling his eyes slip closed. It's late, later than Bucky would have expected, and Steve's warm and comfortable and safe. "You charmer. Bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I really like," Steve whispers.

They take the subway, and Steve ends up giving Bucky a piggyback ride to his apartment complex. Somehow, Bucky's managed to hold onto Roger the stuffed rabbit, and he tucks it under his arm when Steve finally sets him down. 

"You gonna be alright?" Steve asks, nodding up to the building. 

"If I'm lucky he won't even be home," Bucky replies dryly, and slips his hand into Steve's. "Do you wanna come up?"

Steve bites his lip and slowly, ever so slowly, winds an arm around Bucky's waist, pulling them chest to chest. "I don't wanna be a bother."

"You wouldn't be," Bucky says softly, sliding his free hand around the back of Steve's neck. "I like having you around."

Steve glances up at the apartment building again, then sighs. "I can't."

Bucky nods, unable to stop himself from feeling disappointed. "Okay. I'll see you soon?"

Steve gives him a soft, fond smile. "Yeah, Buck. Couldn't keep me away if you tried."

His gaze flicks down to Bucky's mouth, and before Bucky knows what's happening, Steve's closing the distance between them and pressing a feather-light kiss to Bucky's lips.

"Happy birthday, Bucky," Steve whispers. Then his hands fall from Bucky's body and he turns away, waving over his shoulder as he walks off like nothing's happened, like he hasn't just changed everything. Bucky can't seem to move, and instead watches Steve walk down the street, and out of sight.

\------

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to unstick his feet from the pavement and scoop his brain from the sidewalk, and he stumbles into his apartment complex and into the elevator dazedly, almost like he's in a dream. That dream, unfortunately, shatters the moment he unlocks his front door and steps inside.

Brock's there.

He's sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and at least three beer bottles on the floor around him, and when he sees Bucky he stands and stalks over, almost stumbling before he stops in front of Bucky.

"Where were you?" His voice is slightly slurred, and Bucky has to swallow down the slowly growing fear.

"Out," Bucky replies simply, kicking off his shoes and sliding off his coat. "Are you drunk?"

"Who were you with?" Brock snaps. Bucky doesn't answer, and Brock's face twists into a sneer. "Oh, I see. You out with _Steve_?" He spits Steve's name like a curse, and Bucky takes an involuntary step back.

"Brock," he says very carefully. "You're drunk. Let's get you to bed."

Brock huffs and snatches the stuffed rabbit from Bucky's hands, throwing it on the floor. "The hell is this? He give you this too?"

"Brock, please-"

"The reason you're home so late, that because of him, too?"

"Brock, enough!" Bucky finally snaps. "Steve is my friend, and he wanted to do something nice. I don't remember the last time _you_ did something for me for an occasion."

"I treat you right!" Brock growls, grabbing Bucky by the arm in a grip tight enough to bruise. "I do everything for you!"

"Yeah?" Bucky challenges, feeling his temper rise up as he yanks his arm from Brock's grip. He knows, okay, he knows it's a bad idea to get in an argument with Brock when he's drunk, but he's tired and confused because Steve's lips had pressed against his less than ten minutes ago and he can still feel the imprint. "Then when's our anniversary, Brock? What's my mother's name? When was the last time we had sex for both of us, instead of just you?"

"So you thought you'd go and spread your legs for the first guy to look at you?" Brock sneers, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat up with rage. "You're being treated just as you deserve, and you turn away from me to get down on your knees for some other man's cock?"

"I have _never_ cheated on you," Bucky says lividly, taking a step forward so they're face-to-face. "I have stayed loyal, for every single night you've left me by myself. I stopped hanging out with my friends as much because you didn't like them, I've twisted my schedule to fit around you, I even stopped seeing my sister every week. Don't you dare say I haven't been fucking dedicated to you for the last _three years_ of my life, even when you couldn't give less of a shit."

"Don't _fucking_ talk to me like that!" Brock roars. He grips Bucky by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall so hard that Bucky sees stars. "You're _nothing_ without me, understand? I have given you the whole goddamned world, and it's about fucking time you gave me the gratitude I deserve."

As soon as Brock's mouth covers his own, Bucky tries to push him away, but one of Brock's hands slides around his throat and _squeezes_ , and black spots dance in front of Bucky's eyes. 

"Stop," Bucky chokes out, and Brock backhands him across the face, his ring slicing into Bucky's cheek. Pain explodes across Bucky's face and he gasps, the shock giving Brock the opportunity to shove him to his knees. Brock's hands let go of Bucky's to scrabble at the button on his jeans, and using the temporary distraction to his advantage Bucky jumps back to his feet, slamming his knee into Brock's crotch on the way. Brock lets out a howl and doubles over, and Bucky pushes him out of the way and stumbles back to the door, not even bothering to put his shoes back on before he throws the front door open.

"You fucking _bitch_ ," Brock hisses, and Bucky can't stop himself from turning. Brock's on the floor, his eyes fixed on Bucky and full of hatred. 

"If I see you again," Bucky says, his voice shaking, "I'm arresting your _coward_ ass and throwing you in a cell to _rot_."

With that he's turning away and rushing out the door, slamming it behind him and stumbling to the elevator. The panic doesn't settle until he's two blocks away, his socks wet and dirty and shivering from the cold. Taking his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands, Bucky opens his contacts and clicks on the first one he sees. 

"Buck?"

"Stevie?" Bucky croaks. "I... Can you come pick me up?"

"Bucky, are you okay? What's wrong?"

Bucky swallows against the sudden sting of tears. "Brock... He..."

"Are you still at the apartment?" Steve asks in a rush. In the background, Bucky can hear the sound of running. "I'm only a few minutes away if I run."

"No, I'm..." Bucky looks around, spots a familiar sign. "I'm outside the café, down the street."

"Okay, I'll be there soon. You stay where you are, okay?"

Bucky nods even though Steve can't see him, and sits down on the stairs of the first building he sees. It's started raining - not much, but just enough to cover Bucky in a fine sheen of cold droplets and send shivers down his spine. He doesn't know how much time passes until he hears the sound of shoes hitting the pavement and a shadow falls over him, obscuring the street light from view.

"Bucky," Steve breathes out, falling to his knees in front of Bucky. His hands flit over Bucky's face, taking in the swollen cheek, the cut from Brock's ring, the bruising on his throat. Bucky's vision goes blurry, and tears drip down his face, stinging the cut when they fall into it. Then Steve's wrapping his arms around Bucky's body and pulling him close, and Bucky buries his face in Steve's jacket and sobs.

"Oh, Buck," Steve whispers, his arms cradling Bucky like a child. "What did he do to you?"

Bucky shakes his head and clings tighter, and Steve wraps his arms a bit tighter around Bucky's body and _lifts_ , rising to his feet with Bucky cradled to his chest. He must hail a taxi, because soon Bucky's being placed in a warm, dry car and Steve's sliding in after him, murmuring something to the driver as he goes.

"Here, Buck, I'll get you back to my place," Steve reassures gently, tucking Bucky under his arm as the car starts to move. "You can crash on my couch, how does that sound? We'll call Sam in the morning."

"Okay," Bucky croaks, pressing his face into Steve's chest. Steve's arm is a comforting weight around his waist, his hand lightly running through Bucky's hair, and Bucky finds himself relaxing for the first time since he'd stepped inside that apartment.

"I'll always keep you safe, Buck," Steve whispers, and Bucky feels a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. "Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I might not be updating as often anymore. My home life is getting really messed up and I don't feel safe anymore, so there might be several days of radio silence in between updates. This story and your response to it is really helping me from slipping into another depressive episode, and I can't begin to tell you all how grateful I am to have such amazing readers.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- Brock forces Bucky to perform oral sex on him  
> \- Brock attempts to rape Bucky, hits him, chokes him, and tries to prevent him from leaving, but Bucky is able to get away


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this at midnight because it is fucking hot and I can't sleep so there might be more than a few mistakes whoops

Bucky wakes up in a bed that's much more comfortable than his own, a weight resting on his chest that should be suffocating, but is actually more than a little comforting. The sun's shining directly into his eyes and he groans, raising a hand to cover his eyes, but he hits someone on the way up. Someone who very obviously isn't Brock.

Just the thought of Brock brings back memories from the night before, flooding Bucky's mind so quickly that it jump-starts him into consciousness so quickly that his whole body tenses up. The fire in Brock's eyes, the alcohol on his breath, the feeling of his hand flying across Bucky's face, his ring tearing open flesh. Bucky's close to having a panic attack before the person lying on top of him shifts, and lifts their head up to show a familiar face.

"Hey, you're awake," Steve says softly. "How're you feeling?"

He looks so soft; his hair sticking up in cowlicks, his eyes lidded, his shirt rumpled. Bucky's mind helpfully reminds him of the way Steve's lips felt against his own.

"Why am I in your bed?" Bucky croaks, and Steve's eyebrows furrow in concern.

"You didn't wanna be alone when we got back last night, so we both slept in here. Do you not remember?"

"I barely remember you picking me up," Bucky admits. "Everything after... after Brock, it's a bit of a blur."

Steve frowns and lifts himself onto his elbows, reaching out to run his hand over Bucky's forehead. "I checked you for a concussion last night and you were fine. Must just be the adrenaline."

"Must be," Bucky agrees dazedly. He can still see the fury on Brock's face when his hand closed around Bucky's throat.

"Are you sure you're okay, Bucky?" Steve asks concernedly, cupping Bucky's face in one hand. "You're looking a bit pale."

Bucky shakes his head a bit to dispel the images and inches closer to Steve, pressing his body up against all that hard muscle. "Hold me?"

Steve lowers himself onto his side and pulls Bucky closer, snaking his arms around Bucky's waist and pulling him close enough that their noses brush when they move their heads. Bucky lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, reaching up to cradle Steve's jaw. Steve feels nothing like Brock - he's bigger, with less stubble and plusher lips, and his embrace never feels stifling or suffocating, managing to be both firm and gentle at the same time.

"Can we just stay here for a little bit?" Bucky asks meekly, not opening his eyes.

"Of course, Buck," Steve whispers, and Bucky hears the way his voice cracks. "Whatever you want."

They don't move from that position for a very long time.

\-----

They end up leaving bed after a few hours, and Bucky calls Sam over eggs to explain the situation. Sam's at Steve's door fifteen minutes later, almost shaking with worry, and half a minute after sitting down and accepting a coffee he's begging Bucky to come home with him and stay in their guest room. 

"You can stay with us for as long as you want," Sam assures him, almost pleading. "We've got the room, and it's hell finding a good apartment at this time of year."

As much as Bucky wants to stay at Steve's house, to wake in Steve's arms every morning and let Steve make him breakfast, he knows that it's just a pipe dream. It'd be unrealistic for him and Steve to sleep in the same bed for more than just that one night - and even that toed the lines between friendship and something more. Sure, Steve has a guest room, but Bucky feels reluctant to stay; he doesn't want to put Steve out more than he already has. 

"You know you're always welcome here, if you need to come," Steve murmurs, reaching over to take Bucky's hand.

"I know," Bucky says, squeezing Steve's hand with a smile. "Thank you."

"We can raid your apartment sometime when Brock's out," Sam continues. "Grab your stuff, maybe trash some of his, y'know?"

"I know he's got a dinner on Tuesday," Bucky muses, leaning back in his chair. "He'll be gone all day for work and won't get back until at least ten."

"Then we'll go on Tuesday," Steve says cheerfully, and Bucky can't help but smile.

"Y'know you don't have to do this for me, right?" he has to ask.

"I know, Buck, but I _want_ to," Steve replies, his eyebrows furrowed. "That asshole doesn't deserve you, and I wanna do everything I can so that you can leave him behind."

Bucky has to lean over then, resting his head on Steve's shoulder in an approximation of a hug. Steve's hand rests on the nape of his neck, and Bucky finds himself wanting to drag Steve back to bed for more cuddles. 

"We should probably get going," Sam's voice breaks through the cotton candy of Bucky's mind and he sits up, Steve's hand falling from his neck. "Riley had started stress baking when I'd left, and I don't wanna think of what would happen if we left him alone for too long." Then Sam pauses, and the next words he says with deliberate lightness. "I'll go wait in the car."

Steve waits until Sam's left the apartment before holding out his arms, and Bucky gladly rises from his seat and curls himself up in Steve's lap, Steve's arms wrapping around him tightly. Bucky lets out a breath and presses his forehead to Steve's collarbone, winding his arms around Steve's neck and shifting until they're pressed tightly together.

"You don't need to leave, y'know," Steve murmurs. Bucky can feel the vibrations of his throat on his forehead.

"I know," Bucky says quietly. "But I think it'd do me some good, staying with Sam and Riley for a while. Just until I find my own place."

"Okay," Steve says, and his lips brush Bucky's head. It's that that makes Bucky look up, catch the soft look in Steve's eyes.

"Steve," Bucky starts, then bites his lip. Steve's watching him patiently, his arms loose around Bucky's waist, and it's such a nice moment that Bucky finds himself reluctant to break it, to bring up that kiss from last night. If he brings it up, it'll change things between them - and god, as much as Bucky wants to feel those lips against his own again, he knows, objectively, that it's not a good idea - at least not yet. God, he got out of a three-year relationship less than twelve hours ago - that's nothing to brush off, especially because of the way it ended with Brock. 

"Buck?" Steve asks softly, breaking Bucky's train of thought. Bucky looks down at him again. If he were to get in a relationship with Steve now, how would it end? Would he end up unable to stay? Would they lose what they have now?

"Nothing," Bucky says, and leans in to kiss Steve's cheek. "Thank you, for yesterday. And this morning."

"I told you, Buck," Steve says, a fond smile on his face. "I'd do everything for you, if you'd let me."

Bucky has to press his face into Steve's neck to stop from kissing him.

\-----

Just as Sam promised, on Tuesday night he, Bucky, Steve, Natasha and Clint all pile into Sam's car and go to Bucky's old apartment, empty boxes in the trunk. Sam stands watch outside in the hallway, Clint raids the fridge and smashes several plates, Natasha clears out the bathroom, and Bucky and Steve take the bedroom. They manage to fill four boxes with Bucky's stuff, including clothes, books, self-care products, his favourite mug, all the chocolate in the pantry, and every single phone charger in the apartment. Clint also manages to spell out FUCK U RAPIST in beer bottles on the kitchen counter.

When Bucky's got all his stuff back, including his laptop and credit card, he does a bit of online shopping. The first thing he does is buy a 7-inch ribbed dildo, a bottle of lube, and a vibrator - if he's going to be living without someone to fuck an (admittedly shitty) orgasm out of him, he'd have to do it himself. He also buys a weighted blanket, since he hasn't really been without a boyfriend or prolonged fuck-buddy since he was twenty-five, and he needs a bit of comfort. A small voice in his head whispers that he didn't have to be alone, that there's a sweet, gorgeous guy who would be more than happy to warm Bucky's bed if Bucky just asked, but he didn't want to bring Steve in on his fucked up head.

Living with Sam and Riley turns out to be easy. He and Sam can sleep in just a little bit longer, since there's no commute between their places anymore, and there's always a fresh, home-cooked meal waiting for them when they arrive home because Riley is a saint and also gets off work at three-thirty every day. Sure, more often than not Bucky's waking up with a pit in his stomach and a chill in his spine, picturing that night and all the nights before it that he couldn't see were not alright; the painful sex, the sneered words, the roughness of Brock's hands, the bruises that would always turn up on his skin. Other nights, he wakes up with tears in his eyes and a need for a body slotted up beside his own, a stubbled jaw pressed into his shoulder and snores muffled by his skin. The weighted blanket comes in handy on those nights.

Bucky's pretty much accepted the fact that he'll never have to see Brock again by the end of the first week, and is finally adjusting to his new living situation. Of course, there's no way it could last, and that fact proves itself true on a cloudy Saturday morning in late March. The night before, Bucky had dropped over to Becca's place and ended up falling asleep on the couch around eleven, drunk on Becca's homemade martinis. Becca, the saint she is, cooks waffles with maple syrup and bacon for breakfast, paired with several cups of coffee. Bucky sits at her kitchen table listening to her chatter on about the cute guy at work who she's thinking of asking out, making sure little Max doesn't spray her food all over the place. It's nice, and Bucky's just thinking about how he really doesn't see Becca as much as he wants to when his phone goes off.

"Everything alright?" Becca asks.

"It's Hill," Bucky says, frowning. He swipes answer and holds the phone up to his ear, not even bothering with greetings before asking, "What's wrong?"

"We found another body last night," Hill says immediately, and Bucky's sitting straight up in his seat.

"What?" he demanded. "And I didn't get a call?"

"Barnes," Hill says, and for the first time since he's known her, her voice is uneven. "The victim is Brock Rumlow."

It doesn't set in at first - Bucky sits there, staring blankly in front of him, before the full force of Hill's words hits him and he sucks in a sudden breath, feeling like he's just been sucker-punched in the gut.

"What?" His voice is shaky, weak, and Becca automatically stands up, hurrying to his side to listen in.

"We found him in his home, thirty stab wounds in his body." Hill sounds like she's trying to keep herself together. "Bucky, you need to come down to the morgue, now."

"Yeah, of course," Bucky says, standing up on shaky legs and stumbling over to shove his shoes on. "Do we know who was last seen with him? Who he was with?"

"Bucky, you don't understand," Hill says. "You're not going to be on this case, you're going to be questioned about it."

Bucky pauses, the shock of Hill's admission turning into confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're listed as Rumlow's emergency contact, and you've gotta come in and properly identify the body." Hill pauses then, and there's something regretful in her voice when she adds, "And you've been put on the list of suspects. We're gonna have to question you."

\------

Becca ends up dropping Max off at a neighbour's place and driving Bucky to the morgue, almost vibrating with rage as she does some very illegal driving that Bucky would call her out on if he wasn't so shocked. Brock is _dead_ \- maybe even killed by the same man who Bucky's been investigating for almost six months. That thought is terrifying; does the killer know who Bucky is? Did he choose to kill Brock because of their past relationship, or was it purely coincidence? 

Becca seems to notice the way Bucky's slowly descending into a panic attack, since she reaches over the centre console to grip Bucky's arm reassuringly.

"Hey, it's okay," she says gently. "You were with me all night; there's no way they'll keep you on as a suspect."

"Becca, I think whoever killed Brock knows who I am," Bucky whispers, and Becca frowns.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I've been investigating them since October."

Becca goes very still. "And you're sure it's the same person?"

Bucky thinks of that red star, carved into the chests of every single victim. "I will soon."

When they get to the morgue, they're immediately met by a harried-looking Hill, who wordlessly gestures for them to follow her. Becca plasters herself to Bucky's side, gripping his arm in a way that's probably meant to be reassuring. As soon as they enter the identification room, Bucky feels like the ground dropped out from underneath him.

Brock's body is lying on a metal table in the middle of the room, his eyes closed and mouth twisted into a sneer. His skin is the white pallor of death, his lips blue and his dark stubble standing out starkly against the rest of his face. The last time Bucky had seen him, he'd been curled on the floor of their apartment, his eyes burning with hatred and lips twisted into a snarl. The sheet on top of him is pulled up to his neck, and before Bucky knows what he's doing he's striding over and yanking the sheet down.

"Fuck," he whispers, and falls to his knees. Because right there, between the stab wounds on Brock's chest, is a star.

Becca's arms are immediately around him, pulling him to his feet. Distantly, he hears her talking to Hill, but the conversation only reaches his ears properly when Hill says, "We need confirmation."

"It's him," Bucky manages. He can't look away from Brock. "It's Brock."

"Let's get you out of here," Hill says, and Bucky feels her come up on his other side. "I'll go steal some of Banner's nice tea - we'll get you settled down in the break room."

Bucky nods numbly and lets Becca and Hill escort him out, unable to stop himself from craning his neck to get one last look at Brock. He's half-convinced that Brock will pull himself up off that table, eyes glossy, and drag Bucky back.

Hill leads him and Becca down the corridor and into a room he's never been in before - there's a small kitchenette on one side with a long table next to it, and the other side of the room is taken up by several couches and armchairs. Becca sits him down on one of the couches and takes him in her arms, and Bucky gladly leans into it, clinging to her tightly. Hill presses a hot mug into his hands - he hadn't even noticed her boil the kettle - and sits on his other side, resting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"You're gonna have to come back with me to the station," Hill says gently, and Becca's grip tightens on him.

"He's not going anywhere without me," she says defiantly, and Bucky's suddenly overcome with a wave of gratitude towards his younger sister. 

"That's fine, but you'll have to sit outside while he's being interviewed," Hill soothes, then turns to Bucky. "We don't need to be there right away, so take as much time as you need."

"No," Bucky croaks out, putting his barely-touched mug down. "No, let's get this over with. The sooner it's over, the sooner I can get home, right?" He tries for a smile, but from Hill's concerned look, he's not entirely sure how successful he is.

"I'll talk to Fury, see to you getting the next week off," Hill says, squeezing his arm. "It'll be good for you, Bucky - you haven't taken time off work the entire time you've worked underneath me."

Bucky nods and stands up, his legs feeling weak underneath him. Becca's immediately at his side, gripping his arm again, and he squeezes her bicep in thanks.

The drive to the precinct is a tense one; Bucky and Becca are curled up together in the back seat, and Hill keeps glancing at them worriedly in the rearview mirror. Bucky's turned his phone off, but he can't help check it every so often, waiting for the dark screen to light up with a message. From who, he's not entirely sure. 

"Because you're a detective here, we can't actually send in anyone who's taking the case directly to question you," Hill says when they pull up, and she sounds apologetic. "We've called in a detective from a neighbouring precinct - name's Coulson, apparently he's a friend of the Captain's. There'll be video monitoring the whole time, and if you feel uncomfortable we can call a recess."

"Thanks," Bucky whispers, and Becca squeezes his arm. 

"Let's get this over with," she says softly. "Then I'll take you home and order in enough greasy food to kill a horse."

Bucky cracks a smile and leans over to kiss his sister's head. "Sure thing, Becs."

Getting out of the car, Hill leads them through the back entrance and down a corridor that opens into the interrogation rooms. In the first one sits a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, who's shuffling through folders. With one parting hug from Becca, Bucky follows Hill into the room, and the man looks up.

"Sergeant Hill," he greets, standing up to shake Hill's hand. "Thanks for calling me."

"We should be the ones thanking you, Coulson," Hill replies. "Thanks for coming in on such short notice."

Coulson shrugs and gives a little smile, and Bucky's struck by how harmless the man looks. "It's really not a big deal. I'm getting bored to death at my desk all day - this is a nice change of scene." He turns to Bucky then, holding out his hand with another smile. "And you must be Detective Barnes. You're the one who's been investigating this case?"

"Me and my partner," Bucky says, taking the offered hand. "It's a bit weird to be on the other side of this process."

Coulson chuckles, and behind him, Bucky hears Hill leave the room. "I can imagine. Let's sit down; I've got a few questions for you, then you can be on your way."

Bucky sits down in the free chair, and Coulson takes a recording device from his pocket and places it on the table. He presses a button, and a little light on the side of the device switches on.

"Time of recording: Saturday the eighteenth of March 2021, 10:26 am," Coulson narrates, then shuffles his papers again, turning to look at Bucky. "Can you state your name for the record?"

"James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky replies obediently, and Coulson nods approvingly.

"Okay, James. Can you tell me how you knew the victim, Brock Rumlow?"

Bucky takes a deep breath, settling into his seat. "He was my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend."

"How long were you two together?"

"Three years."

"And you said he's your ex-boyfriend. When did you two break up?"

"Seven days ago."

Coulson pauses at this, and scribbles something down on his notebook. "What was the reason for your separation?"

Bucky swallows. "Do you want the long version or abridged?"

"Long, please." Coulson settles back, giving Bucky an encouraging smile. "We've got all the time in the world."

Bucky takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. Um, for the past few months we'd been fighting a lot more. He wasn't around much, and when he was we were either fighting or, uh, having sex. Last Friday I went out with a friend, and I didn't get back until late. Brock had been drinking, and he, um..." Bucky has to stop, then, blinking the tears from his eyes.

"Take as much time as you need," Coulson says gently, and Bucky gives him a grateful smile.

"I'm okay," Bucky promises, mentally steeling himself before continuing. "He got really mad. He thought I was cheating on him with this friend of mine, and he ended up... he tried to..." Bucky can't bring himself to say _rape_. "Force me. To have sex with him. He hit me and... And forced me to my knees, but I managed to get away and leave the apartment."

"What did you do when you left?" Coulson asks.

"I called the friend I'd been with. He picked me up and let me crash at his place."

"Can I have the name of this friend, please?"

"Steve. Steve Rogers."

Coulson nods, making a note in his book. "You and Mr Rumlow lived together, yes?" When Bucky nods, he continues. "Where have you been staying since the separation?"

"With Sam and Riley Wilson."

"And where were you last night?"

"I was at my sister's house. Rebecca Barnes."

"Can she attest to this?"

"Yes."

Coulson shuffles a few papers again, then pauses. "James, do you know anything about the person who found Mr Rumlow?"

Bucky frowns. "I thought it was a police officer or something. I dunno."

"Mr Rumlow was found this morning by Nicholas Martel, a twenty-two-year-old student at NYU who claims to be Mr Rumlow's boyfriend. When questioned, he claims that he and Mr Rumlow had been in a sexual relationship for almost a year."

Bucky feels the floor drop out from under his feet. "Brock was cheating on me?"

Coulson gives him a sympathetic look. "From Mr Martel's interview, apparently Mr Rumlow would see him every Wednesday and Saturday, where they would engage in rough sex and BDSM."

"That son of a bitch," Bucky whispers. He's shaking, he can feel it, and Coulson is watching him carefully. Trying to pull himself together, Bucky asks weakly, "Did he ever hurt the kid?"

"Mr Martel did mention that Mr Rumlow would occasionally go too far, to the extent that safe-wording was required."

"Is there anything else Brock was keeping from me?" Bucky asks bitterly, and Coulson winces.

"Were you aware of Mr Rumlow's criminal history as a known sex offender and domestic abuser?"

"You can't be serious," Bucky says a bit hysterically.

"Mr Rumlow was arrested in 2005 for the sexual assault of a fifteen-year-old boy, then again in 2008 for the attempted kidnapping of an eighteen-year-old girl. He married in 2010, but the woman divorced him after he physically assaulted her to such a degree that she suffered a miscarriage."

"Oh my god," Bucky whispers. He feels like he's about to throw up. "I... I never knew." 

"Can you think of anyone who has a personal vendetta against your ex-boyfriend?" Coulson asks gently after a pause, and Bucky huffs out a humourless laugh.

"Brock didn't get along with anyone. Pretty much anyone who met him didn't like him."

Coulson nods. "Is there anything else you'd like to share about Mr Rumlow?"

Bucky thinks for a couple of seconds, before hesitantly saying, "He hung out a lot with a group of friends from his work. They might know more than me."

"Can you give me their names?"

"Jack Rollins, Jasper Sitwell, Jonathan Garrett, and Edison Po."

"Thank you, James." Coulson closes his book and turns to the recording device. "Interview closes at 10:47 am, Saturday eighteenth of March."

Hill's waiting outside with Becca, but before Becca can step forward to take Bucky in her arms again, Hill's speaking.

"Barnes, Fury wants to see you in his office."

Bucky nods wearily, not even bothering to argue; Fury's stubborn as a mule, and protesting would just stretch out this day longer than it's already been. Following Hill out into the ball pit, Bucky's surprised to already find Sam waiting in Fury's office, opposite the Captain himself, who has his hands folded on the table in front of him. Hill silently closes the door, leaving just him, Sam and Fury alone in the room. 

"Barnes," Fury says, and if Bucky didn't know him, he'd say the man sounds relieved. "Sit."

"What's this about, sir?" Bucky asks, sitting down in the spare chair. Sam glances over at him with a regretful look on his face, and Bucky's about to ask why before Fury speaks again.

"I have no intention of dragging this out, and I'm sure you want to be as far away from here as possible right now," Fury starts. "As much as it pains me to say this, Barnes, you're officially taken off this case."

" _What?_ " Bucky blurts out.

"I did try to convince him otherwise," Sam whispers. 

"Barnes, you're a great detective," Fury sighs, leaning back in his chair. "You've been a vital part of this case, but this recent victim... It wouldn't be professional to allow you to continue working this case after one of the victims was someone close to you."

"Sir, I can't be benched," Bucky protests. "Me and Sam know this case the best, we've been working it for months!"

"Which is why I want you to choose who will work with Detective Wilson in your place," Fury interrupts, before his eyes soften. "Barnes, you need to take a break. You've spread yourself so thin you're one inconvenience away from getting ripped to shreds, and this Rumlow business certainly hasn't helped. I'm putting you on paid leave for the next month and a half - take a holiday, see some landmarks or whatever. Just get yourself back together so I can have you back in my precinct."

Bucky's eyes fall shut in defeat, and he nods. Sam's hand rests on his bicep and squeezes lightly.

"Alright - both of you, outta my office," Fury says, his voice back to its gruff, normal tone. "Wilson, you got work to do. Barnes, take a damn nap, for Christ's sake - the bags under your eyes are so big you could fill them with a whole fuckin' clothing store."

\------

Becca drops him back home at around five, making him promise to call her later and to eat something for dinner instead of going hungry. Riley's already home, and he immediately draws Bucky into a hug when he steps through the door.

"Sam told me," is all he says before Bucky's leaning into him like a puppet with its strings cut, the emotional exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. Riley's always given the best hugs, and that's no less true now; Bucky finds himself slowly losing all the tension that's built up over the last eight hours, being replaced by a bone-deep tiredness.

"Won't be much company tonight," Bucky mumbles into Riley's shoulder.

"You want me to bring you dinner in bed?"

Bucky closes his eyes against the sting of tears, a lump in his throat. "Yes, please."

"Sam probably won't be home until late," Riley says, beginning to lead Bucky towards his room. Bucky follows listlessly, almost swaying on his feet and only just managing not to fall over. "He's got Natasha and Clint with him; they'll probably be a long time."

"I should be with them," Bucky says, collapsing onto the bed as soon as he's within reach. Riley runs a hand through his hair sympathetically, and Bucky arches up into it like a cat.

"Honey, you wouldn't be much help in this state," Riley says gently. "Get some rest - dinner will be about an hour. Maybe call Steve - he always makes you feel better."

"Yeah," Bucky slurs. With one last pat to his head, Riley's hand retreats, and Bucky can hear him wheeling out of the room. 

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to muster up the energy to stand back up and strip out of his clothes, and even more energy to rifle through his closet for some soft sweats and a shirt. Once he's finally dressed he flops down on the bed again, reaching for his phone. Steve's already texted, it seems; a simple message from a couple of hours ago that reads, _u wanna catch up later? :)_ Bucky doesn't bother with answering, and instead hits call.

"Hey, I was wondering when you were gonna get back to me," Steve says brightly as soon as he picks up.

"I've been a bit busy," Bucky says wearily, settling back into his pillows.

"Everything alright?" Steve asks, his voice dropping a bit in concern. 

Bucky bites his lip and shifts slightly into a more comfortable position. "Steve... Brock's dead."

There's complete silence from the other end. "What?"

"Brock was murdered in his apartment last night," Bucky explains, a bitter taste in his mouth. "He was found by his... his _boyfriend_."

"Boyfriend?" Steve sounds confused. "How did he find someone in a week?"

"He'd been dating the guy for almost a year."

"He _what?_ " Steve asks incredulously. "The bastard was cheating on you?"

"There's a lot I apparently didn't know about Brock," Bucky whispers.

"Are you okay?"

Bucky almost laughs at the question. No, he's not okay. He's pretty damn far from okay. He had to identify his ex-boyfriend's dead body, be interrogated about his ex's murder, and then he was told that he can't even stay on the fucking case. "No, I'm not."

"You want me to come over?"

The thought is appealing; Steve, wrapped around Bucky's back, his nose pressed into Bucky's shoulder and his soft snores echoing through the room. His sweet, lazy smile in the morning, the feeling of his lips against Bucky's cheeks and forehead.

"Please?" Bucky knows he probably sounds a bit pathetic, but he can't bring himself to care.

"I'll be there in about an hour, alright? I'm still at work."

"Shit, Steve, I'm sorry - I shouldn't have called."

"No, no, it's fine, Buck - I love hearing from you, you know that. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Bucky whispers. He keeps the phone to his ear long after Steve's hung up.

Bucky doesn't recall falling asleep, but he must because the next time he opens his eyes there's someone crawling into bed behind him, warm arms wrapping him up in a tight embrace.

"Steve?" Bucky mumbles, his voice slurred from sleep.

"Hey, Buck," Steve whispers. He presses a kiss to the soft skin behind Bucky's ear, and Bucky lets his body fall limp with a soft moan. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired," Bucky admits, turning around in Steve's arms to face him. Steve isn't wearing a shirt, and Bucky reaches out to trace his fingers along the groove of Steve's collarbone. "Thank you for coming."

"How many times have I told you, you don't need to thank me," Steve says, the corners of his mouth ticking up. "It's not like being around you is a drag."

"I know, but I feel like I'm calling on you for everything," Bucky says, sliding a hand around to cup the back of Steve's neck. "I don't wanna put you out."

"You could never," Steve replies, leaning forward to brush his lips across Bucky's forehead. Bucky sighs happily and snuggles into Steve's chest, closing his eyes at the sound of Steve's heartbeat. It's comforting, and Steve's hands are warm on his body through the shirt.

"I was taken off my case," Bucky murmurs.

"Why?" Steve asks softly. He doesn't let go of Bucky, and instead starts rubbing his back slowly, enough to make Bucky melt into it like a cat.

"Because Brock's the most recent victim of this guy I'm chasing, and apparently it's not 'professional' for me to work a case where I have a close relationship with one of the victims." Bucky knows he sounds bitter, but he can't bring himself to feel guilty about it.

Steve's hands pause for a second in their petting before starting up again. The pause is so quick that Bucky almost thinks he imagined it. "Is this the same case you've been on for months?" At Bucky's nod, Steve is carefully going on, "Buck, maybe it's a good thing you were benched. You've been so stressed lately - I know you have, I've seen it - and who knows? Maybe whoever this guy is will be caught."

"I hope so," Bucky whispers, then pauses. "I... I'm scared of him, Steve."

"The killer?" Steve asks gently, and Bucky nods. 

"He... Fuck, the way he kills is so brutal. And he carves a star into his victim's chests, Steve, how fucked up is that? And he just killed my ex - what if he knows who I am? What if he knows I'm investigating him, and he comes for me next?"

"Woah, hey Buck, slow down," Steve says, sounding more than a little alarmed. "Bucky, nothing's going to happen to you. That psycho won't get anywhere near you, I _promise_."

"How can you?" Bucky whispers. "You won't always be around to protect me - I won't always have people with me. What if he gets me?"

"He won't," Steve says firmly, his arms tightening around Bucky's body. "He'll never get you. You're safe here, and you're safe with me, and when you get back to work, you'll be safe there, too."

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. "You sound so sure."

"I'd never let anything happen to you," Steve says fiercely. "If I can promise you anything, I can promise you that."

He says it with such conviction, that Bucky can't help but believe him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one today, with probably too many time skips. Hope you guys enjoy!

**April**

When Bucky walks into the kitchen in the morning, still half-asleep and in desperate need of coffee, the first thing he sees is Riley, eyebrows furrowed, watching TV. Why the news is on at eight in the morning on a Tuesday is unknown to Bucky, at least until he turns his attention to the screen. 

"From reports conducted by an anonymous source, it seems that the killer has been active since late September," the reporter is saying. She's standing in front of the precinct.

"What's going on?" Bucky asks, moving to stand behind Riley with a hand on the back of his chair. 

"Someone leaked your and Sam's case to the media," Riley replies, eyes glued to the TV. _Not my case anymore,_ Bucky wants to say, but he stays silent. "It's being reported by every news source in New York - they've been whipped into a frenzy." He pulls his phone from his pocket and offers it to Bucky, already open on Google. The first article's name catches Bucky's eye.

"The Avenger?" he asks incredulously. "That's what they're calling this monster?"

"Seems so," Riley sighs, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Since all his victims have been criminals, and all. Some people are praising the guy, saying he's doing what the police can't."

"He's a _psychopath_ ," Bucky protests. "He doesn't do this for the good of the city, he does this to satisfy some... some fucked up _urge_ inside him."

"Try telling that to them," Riley says, nodding at the TV. It's now showing a man brandishing a sign that reads, _AVENGE THIS CITY_.

"I need a fucking drink," Bucky mutters.

"It's eight in the morning," Riley replies.

"And you're supposed to be at work," Bucky shoots back, and Riley sighs.

"Emergency alert got sent out last night. All elementary schools in the area are to be closed until the schools can hire security guards to look after the wellbeing of the students."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bucky swears, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from on top of the fridge. "You want a glass?"

Riley sighs. "Please."

It's when they're halfway through the bottle and pleasantly tipsy, already having switched the news for Golden Girls reruns on Stan that Riley asks, "Hey, since Brock has been murdered and shit, doesn't that mean that you get your apartment back?"

"Yep," Bucky sighs. They've migrated from Riley's wheelchair to the couch, slumped against one another while Blanche goes on yet another date sure to fail. "Good as new, except for the giant bloodstain in the carpet that the crime scene cleaners couldn't get out."

"Jesus," Riley mumbles. "Can see why you'd prefer the guest room."

"It's alright that I'm staying here?" Bucky checks. "I can always go somewhere else."

"No, honey, we love having you here." Riley's Southern accent always comes out when he's been drinking, and Bucky finds it a lot more comforting than it probably should be. "Besides, that apartment is a fucking nightmare, even without the bloodstains. I know you - you hated the place, even when you and Brock were together."

"It just always felt so... big," Bucky mumbles, burrowing his head into Riley's shoulder. "Cold. It was always Brock's more than mine."

"Then sell it," Riley says simply. "You can live here until you find a place of your own."

"I can't put you out like that, Riles," Bucky sighs, then yelps when Riley whacks his bicep.

"Didn't I just tell you how great it is that you're here? Having someone to feed who isn't Sam is like a dream come true."

"Sam doesn't appreciate your cooking?" Bucky asks, scandalised.

"Of course he likes my cooking, why do you think he married me?" Riley shoots back. "No, I know that Sam loves my food, but he'll say the same damn thing about every single meal. _I love it, baby, this is so good, baby._ I need some damn change - fuckin' critique me for once, Samuel, you damn meatball."

"You want me to critique your cooking?" 

"It'll help me realise what I'm doing wrong," Riley shrugs. Bucky scoffs and takes another swig from his glass. 

"Riley, you haven't done anything wrong in the kitchen in your whole damn life, cut yourself some slack."

"Tell that to my mama and Thanksgiving 2009," Riley mutters mutinously, before he mushes his face into Bucky's chest and promptly falls asleep.

\-----

Sam gets home that night late, almost stumbling through the door before collapsing onto the couch, face-first into Riley's lap with a loud groan. Bucky, still mid-hangover, throws a cushion at him.

"Gimme a break, Barnes," Sam groans. "There's no way your day's been worse than mine, gimme some damn peace."

"I woke up, drank, took a nap, then spent the afternoon regretting my morning choices," Bucky replies. "But yeah, your day was probably much worse."

"The fucking press tried to break down the door of the precinct, the Commissioner's office is on my ass, Fury's on my ass, and we've got no clue who the leak is," Sam mumbles, sighing when Riley starts stroking his hair.

"I've got some food in the fridge from dinner," Riley says softly. "I can heat it up for you."

"In a few minutes," Sam murmurs, turning onto his back and reaching up to cradle Riley's face in his hands. "I wanna spend some time with my husband first."

Bucky quickly looks away, rising from his seat and leaving the room to give them some privacy. Their muffled, murmured voices follow him to his room, only cutting off when the door closes behind him.

Letting out a sigh, Bucky falls back onto his bed and throws an arm over his face, suddenly melancholy. Maybe it was the sight of Sam and Riley, so comfortable in each other and so in love, or maybe it's the weight of the day and the week and the month crushing him, but Bucky finds his eyes prickling with unshed tears. Desperately pushing them back, Bucky reaches for his nightstand and grabs his phone.

"Bucky, are you okay?" Steve asks as soon as he picks up the phone, sounding frantic.

"Stevie, calm down," Bucky soothes. "I'm fine. What makes you think I'm not?"

"You never call this late unless something's wrong," Steve says, sounding a little sheepish. "I was... I was worried."

"I'm sorry," Bucky sighs, settling back into bed. "It's been a really long, really shitty day. I wanted to hear your voice."

Steve's quiet for a few seconds. "Are you tired?"

"Not really."

"Meet me outside Prospect Park in fifteen minutes."

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "You sure that's a good idea? I'm sure you've heard the news - is it smart to be out so late?"

"We'll be fine," Steve says cheerfully. "Bring a jacket, it's cold as balls."

"Steve-" Bucky laughs, but Steve hangs up before he can say anything else. "Fucking asshole," Bucky mumbles, but he can't wipe the smile off his face.

He's dressed in just a couple of minutes, and out the door even quicker. Sam and Riley have migrated to the kitchen, where Sam's devouring a plate of chicken and roast vegetables, Riley sipping a cup of tea beside him.

"I'm going out with Steve," Bucky says, grabbing his coat from the hall. "I'll be back late."

"It's already late," Riley says amusedly, and Bucky gives a helpless shrug, unable to keep his lips from pulling up. 

"I guess it is."

Sam chuckles, spooning another mouthful of chicken into his mouth. "Ah, young love."

"It's nice to see you so happy again," Riley says, a small smile on his face. "I haven't seen you like this in years."

Bucky shrugs again. "Steve's a friend. And he's sweet."

"Is that all he is?"

Bucky feels his face heat up, and busies himself with pulling on his gloves. "I'm... not ready for another relationship. Not yet. But maybe one day."

Riley hums, taking another sip of his tea. "I'm proud of you, hon."

Bucky ducks his head against the sudden rush of emotions. "Don't wait up for me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam chuckles. Bucky rolls his eyes fondly and steps out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Steve's already there when he gets to Prospect Park, standing under a street light and looking up at the sky. Bucky has to swallow down a barrage of feelings at the sight of him.

"Hey."

Steve turns from the sky to look at Bucky, his mouth curving into a smile. "Hey, Buck."

He holds out his arms, and Bucky gladly steps into his embrace, sighing when he's enveloped by those thick, warm arms.

"I've missed you," Bucky mumbles as Steve pulls away, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek on the way. 

"I've missed you too," Steve says, tucking a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. "Sorry I've been so hard to get a hold of lately - work's been crazy."

"At least you still have work," Bucky grumbles. "I've been sitting around doing nothing for a week now and it's driving me nuts."

"Well, I've just been given a few weeks of leave myself, until the middle of next month," Steve says all too casually. "Maybe we can spend a few days together."

"Did you seriously take leave just to hang out with me?" Bucky asks, amused despite himself.

"Course I did," Steve replies cheerfully. "Can't let my best guy be bored, can I?"

"You're a dork," Bucky replies, but his voice is too fond for the words to carry any significant meaning.

"Oh yeah, and I brought you something," Steve says suddenly, rifling around in his pocket. Out of his he takes a sprig of baby's breath, slightly crumpled, but in full bloom. "I, uh, passed a florist that was still open on my way here, managed to get this with the dollar I had in my pocket. Thought maybe you'd like it."

Bucky takes the sprig, throat feeling uncomfortably tight. "Nobody's brought me flowers before." His voice is a bit shaky when he speaks, but Steve still looks at him like he's hung the moon.

"They should've." Steve gently takes the sprig back and reaches out, tucking it behind Bucky's ear. When he's arranged it to his satisfaction, his hand trails down to cradle Bucky's face. "You look beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself, stud," Bucky says, his voice trembling. Steve gives him another smile, before taking Bucky's gloved hand in his.

"C'mon, let's take a walk."

It's peaceful in the park, the only light being the lamps that line the sides of the path. There's no one else around, and Bucky finds himself leaning into Steve's side a lot more than he usually would.

"Have you heard the news?" Bucky asks quietly. Steve lets go of his hand to wrap his arm around Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky gladly presses closer.

"Yeah." Steve sounds a bit subdued. "I'm guessing that was your case, the one that had been leaked. The guy who killed Brock."

"Yep." Bucky's voice is exhausted, much more than he was expecting, and Steve shoots him a concerned look. "Sam's being worked to the bone - it's only a matter of time before the reporters come busting down my door, too."

"They shouldn't be allowed to do that," Steve says, frowning. "That's harassment."

"Who's going to tell them no?" Bucky points out, and Steve's frown deepens. He looks like he's about to start defending Bucky's honour like some kind of Victorian love interest, and Bucky's not entirely sure he'd be able to survive that. "Since you're on leave, what are you planning to do?"

"I'm not sure," Steve muses. "The MoMA's got a new exhibit opening in a week or so, and it's the perfect time of year to go hiking."

"I love hiking," Bucky says honestly, and Steve grins down at him.

"We can do a day trip some time, pack a lunch and everything, maybe grab some dinner on the way back."

"I'd love that."

Steve's eyes soften, and Bucky has to look away. God, Steve is dangerous - Bucky could get used to being looked at like that. 

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Bucky says hesitantly.

"Is everything okay?" Steve asks worriedly, and Bucky can't help but smile at that.

"Everything's fine. Can we sit down?"

Steve leads Bucky over to a bench on the side of the path and they sit down, Bucky pressing close to Steve's side and taking his hand.

"What's going on?" Steve asks softly. Bucky doesn't look up at him; he doesn't know if he'll have the strength for it. Instead, he stares at their clasped hands, covered in gloves but clutched tight together, Steve's hand almost dwarfing his own. 

"Steve," Bucky starts, then bites his lip. God, it's so much harder than he expected, and he can't stop himself from looking up and meeting Steve's gentle, blue eyes. He looks so soft, his hair falling over his forehead and nose pink from the chill, illuminated only by the streetlight. "Steve, I think I'm falling in love with you."

Steve draws in a breath, and his eyes flutter closed. When they open again, they're so fond, so soft, that Bucky wants to drown in them. "This is what you wanted to tell me?" He sounds so hopeful, so full of joy, and if Bucky had any doubts about whether his feelings were reciprocated or not, they've been thrown out the window.

"It's just... Steve, I _just_ got out of a relationship," Bucky continues, his voice almost breaking. "A long one. And... And I don't think I can jump into another one so quickly."

"Hey." Steve's hand leaves Bucky's to cup his face, and Bucky leans into it shamelessly. "I get it, Buck. I don't want you to rush into anything with me just because you think I won't wait for you."

Bucky feels his eyes prickle with tears. "You'd wait?"

"Oh, Buck," Steve whispers, and his other hand comes up to cradle Bucky's other cheek. "Of course I'd wait. I'm crazy about you."

Bucky lets out a wet laugh and leans forward, pressing his forehead against Steve's. "I don't know how long it'll take, Steve. I don't want you to put your life on hold for me."

"Don't you understand, Buck?" Steve's thumb brushes under Bucky's eye. "You're the one that took my life _off_ hold. Ever since I left the army, it's felt like I've just been at a standstill, and I know it's only been six months, but god, Buck, I'd tear the world apart for you."

Bucky closes his eyes, losing his fight with the tears that start to fall down his face. "God, Stevie…"

"I'll wait," Steve promises, and presses a long, soft kiss to Bucky's forehead. "I'll wait as long as you need." Bucky can't stop himself from flinging his arms around Steve's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Steve holds him just as tight, his breath ghosting across Bucky's ear and making him shiver.

"I got so lucky, finding you," Bucky whispers.

"You got it all wrong, Buck," Steve murmurs back, and kisses the shell of Bucky's ear. "I'm the lucky one here."

**May**

The next sunny day, Steve picks Bucky up at seven in the morning in his car, pastries and coffee in the centre console. Bucky greets him with a peck to the cheek before immediately picking up one of the coffees and taking a sip. 

"Where are we going?" Bucky asks when he resurfaces. Steve's watching him with a fond smile on his face, and Bucky finds himself blushing under that gaze. 

**"Outside the city," Steve replies, starting the car. When he pulls out onto the street, he reaches over and takes Bucky's hand in his. "There's a great trail in the Appalachians, thought we could go there."**

****

"Sounds good," Bucky hums, squeezing Steve's hand. "You've got food?" 

****

"Picked up a couple of sandwiches from the deli you like," Steve says cheerfully. "Gotta treat my best guy right, don't I?" 

****

Bucky ducks his head to hide his smile. "You sure do." 

****

It takes them an hour to get out of the city, and another half an hour of driving before they reach the trail, and Steve parks in the empty lot easily. 

****

"I thought there'd be more people around," Bucky says curiously. 

****

"It is a weekday, Buck," Steve points out amusedly. "Maybe everyone's at work." 

****

"Lucky us, then." 

****

Steve's hand squeezes his own, and Bucky feels butterflies start up in his stomach. "Lucky us." 

****

The trail is gorgeous, just like Steve promised. It's not too hard - which is good, since Bucky hasn't gone hiking in years - and the only sounds around them are the songs of birds, the rustling of the trees, the chirp of insects. They walk for hours in silence, with the occasional glance towards one another that always made Bucky's cheeks heat up and Steve's lips curve into a smile, and as they're walking across a small stream, Steve reaches over and twines their fingers together. 

****

They find a nice ridge with a view across a lake to have lunch, and they sit on the grass side by side as Steve unpacks an honest-to-god wicker basket, full of sandwiches and water and even what looks like a few slices of cake. Bucky's starved from the hike, and as soon as Steve's passing him a sandwich he's devouring it - Steve seems to be in the same boat, and the next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence as they eat. 

****

"How's the house hunt going?" Steve asks through a mouthful of rye, and Bucky groans. 

****

"Don't remind me. It's hell - I forgot just how much people will fucking charge for something barely bigger than a closet. One of the places I went to see didn't even have enough room for a bed! The guy just told me that I'd have to sleep sitting up on the floor." 

****

"Jesus," Steve says, his eyebrows raised. "How long have you been searching for now?" 

****

"Almost two months," Bucky sighs. He finishes his sandwich and wriggles down until he's lying on his back in the grass, his head on Steve's thigh. "I'm starting to think that I'll spend the rest of my life in Sam and Riley's guest room." 

****

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Steve asks, his free hand running through Bucky's hair. "They're your best friends." 

****

"I know, but they deserve some privacy, y'know?" Bucky says, closing his eyes. "The number of times I've accidentally walked in on them in the kitchen, the living room - hell, even the laundry - is ridiculous. And I don't wanna be a drag on them." 

****

Steve hums, still scratching his fingers through Bucky's hair. "What if you moved in with me?" 

****

Bucky opens his eyes again, frowning up at Steve. "What?" 

****

"I've got a spare room," Steve says, shrugging. He's blushing again, avoiding Bucky's eyes, and god, Bucky's so gone on this man. "There's more than enough room for the two of us, and it'll be nice to have someone else around. I can even charge you rent, if you want." 

****

Bucky raises himself onto his elbows. "You'd do that?" 

****

"It's not like it'd exactly be a hardship, Buck," Steve mumbles, averting his eyes. Unable to stop himself, Bucky lurches forward and presses a very messy kiss to Steve's lips, and when he pulls away Steve's looking at him in shock, his cheeks bright red and lips slightly parted. 

****

"Sorry," Bucky pants, with what must be a very stupid grin on his face. "Just… that'd be amazing, Stevie." 

****

Steve's face blooms into a smile, and before Bucky knows what's happening he's being tackled to the ground with a shriek, strong arms wrapped around his waist and Steve's laughter in his ear. 

****

****

**June**

****

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asks quietly as he heaves another box into the back of his car. "You've only known this guy for six months, and now you're moving in with him?" 

****

"We're not dating," Bucky replies, resting against the car for a second to catch his breath. And it's true; he and Steve haven't kissed since that day in the mountains, and they haven't talked about their feelings towards one another for even longer. They're in a strange no man's land between friends and lovers, with Steve bringing him flowers and Bucky sitting in Steve's lap and soft kisses on cheeks and foreheads in greeting. There's an undercurrent of tension between them that's new, too, and it's heady, the way that Steve will watch Bucky like he wants to eat him alive. "And Steve's a good guy - you know that." 

****

"I do," Sam sighs, leaning against the car next to Bucky. "But I also worry about you. You're my best friend, Bucky, and I know I've been a bit overprotective since the whole Brock fiasco, but I just don't want you to rush into something you'll regret." 

****

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bucky says firmly, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'll still see you every day at work, and I'll try and come over for dinner as much as I can." 

****

"I'm just being stupid," Sam chuckles, ruffling Bucky's hair. "You and Steve figured out what's going on between you yet?" 

****

"A bit," Bucky admits. "He loves me. He says he'll wait for me to be ready for a relationship to do anything." 

****

"And he's kept his promise?" 

****

"So far." 

****

Sam hums approvingly, then slaps Bucky's back. "C'mon, lover boy. Let's get these boxes in the car so you can see your beau." 

****

Bucky laughs and pushes him away, walking back towards the house to where Steve's wrestling with a particularly large box. He beams at Bucky when he passes, and Bucky feels that flutter in his chest that's always there when Steve looks at him. Maybe Steve won't have to wait much longer, Bucky thinks, and the feeling intensifies. 

****

Bucky turns back to the house and goes to help Riley with the boxes. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is where things, uh... _heat up_ ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my computer crashed like three times while I was trying to upload and edit this, so there might be mistakes but I'm not going to reread this thing AGAIN.
> 
> ANYWAY, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for. Not the serial killer reveal one, the other one. Hope you enjoy!

**August**

As the weeks go by and the days start getting hotter, the precinct is alive with activity. Sam's rarely at his desk anymore, and when he is he's pouring over documents and crime scene photos and reports from Danvers and Banner and Stark. Bucky's inherent curiosity paired with his refusal to be taken off a case he hasn't finished means that whenever Sam is around, he's being pestered with questions about the case, suspects, new bodies. Sam ends up telling him some details that weren't leaked to the press (after incessant harassment from Bucky), including that they'd found out what object was used to create the carvings in victim's chests.

"It took Stark almost six months to figure it out," Sam had said, shaking his head in disbelief. "And even then he hadn't been working alone - Hill had managed to contact that scientist from Wakanda, and she'd taken a look. Turns out Parker had been right - sorta."

"The marks were made by an oversized pizza cutter?" Bucky said incredulously.

"No, idiot, of course not. But it _is_ a weapon with a spherical shaped blade - one that's made of vibranium. We've identified it as a chakram."

"A what, sorry?"

"A chakram," Sam had repeated. "It's an ancient weapon of Indian origin - they were used for throwing - a bit like a super-sharp Frisbee - or as a kind of slashing tool in close combat."

"Where in the hell could he have found something like that?" Bucky asked incredulously, and Sam shook his head.

"I got no clue, but whatever his means of getting his hands on it, he's using it for some fucked up shit."

Despite Bucky's wishes to continue working on the case, Fury very firmly refuses and instead gives Bucky case after case of less violent crimes - B&Es, robberies, black-market trading. But Bucky still goes to sleep every night with visions of red star carvings swimming in his head. 

Then, there's Steve. Steve, who Bucky has been living with for going on two months now. Steve, who crawls into Bucky's bed when neither of them can sleep, who can make Bucky laugh even when he's feeling so low he can barely stand it. Steve, who Bucky wants to kiss more and more with every passing day.

The thing with Steve isn't nearly as complicated as Bucky makes it out to be, and they would have fallen into bed together months ago if it wasn't for the threat of Brock hanging over their heads, even after he died. 

Bucky finally comes to a decision one day in early August. He's got the day off, and Steve's off at Thor's gallery to discuss an upcoming art show, and it's so damn hot that when Bucky had ventured outside to get groceries it had felt like his skin was burning off. Thankfully, Steve's apartment - _his_ and Steve's apartment - had a working air conditioner, so Bucky was more than comfortable in his underwear and a shirt that was probably Steve's, seeing as it hung off one shoulder and went down to mid-thigh. Bucky pauses the TV and reaches over for his phone, tapping on Riley's contact and silently praying that he wasn't in class.

"I've got fifteen minutes until the third-graders are done in art class so you'd better be quick," Riley says as soon as he picks up. 

"I'm in love with Steve," Bucky blurts out, and he hears a huff from the other side of the line.

"No shit, Bucky, you've been gone on him since Christmas."

"No, I mean I… I'm ready to have another relationship."

Riley's quiet for a couple of seconds. "Are you sure, Bucky?"

"It's been five months since Brock," Bucky replies, shifting on the couch into a more comfortable position. "I know he fucked me over bad, Riles, but I've been getting better. And I… I think I'm ready."

"You think, or you know?"

"I know."

Riley hums. "Well, if you've already made up your mind about it, I don't know why you're calling me."

Bucky groans and flops onto his back. "Because I wanna make it special when I tell him. He said that he'd wait for me, and I'm finally ready, and I want him to see how much he means to me."

"Fuck, that's cute," Riley mutters, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat up. "Still don't know why you're calling me, though."

"You're married," Bucky points out. "And knowing Sam, you two probably have a super sweet meet-cute and a romantic first date and marriage proposal and stuff."

"Believe me, that was all Sam's doing," Riley says dryly. "I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to romance."

"Please, Riley?" Bucky pleads. "Just gimme some pointers."

Riley's quiet, then he lets out a long, dramatic sigh. "Ugh, fine. How about you make him a nice dinner, for when he gets home? Wear something nice, get him flowers or some shit, I dunno. Do you wanna sleep with him?"

" _Yes_ ," Bucky replies emphatically, and Riley laughs.

"Damn, Barnes, alright. Then seduce him. Tell him you want him to take you to bed."

"I don't wanna come on too strongly," Bucky whines, and Riley groans.

"Look, honey, I'm about to be late for my class. Just do what you think feels right - Steve is so gone on you it's ridiculous. He'll love anything you do."

Riley hangs up, and Bucky groans despondently. Then he glances at his phone and panics, because it's already two in the afternoon and Steve's due home in just a couple of hours. Bucky, being the overdramatic bitch that he is, immediately shoots up from his spot on the couch and races to the kitchen, opening the fridge and scrutinising the contents. He doesn't have enough time to go shopping, if he wants to cook and get himself ready, so he grabs several ingredients out of the fridge and sets them out on the counter, frowning down at them. A pound of mince, celery, tomatoes, and a bit of parsley. 

"Pasta it is," Bucky mutters, and grabs some tinned tomatoes and passata from the pantry, before getting to work.

Half an hour later he's got the pasta sauce simmering on the stove, and another hour or so before he needs to put on the pasta, so he mentally pats himself on the back and goes into the bathroom. While in there, Bucky showers, moisturizes, styles his hair, and shaves his legs, groin and ass (it had been a while since he'd had the time, and he's feeling uncomfortably hairy). On his way out, he goes into his bedroom and grabs his sluttiest shorts that he usually only uses for pyjamas, and after a bit of deliberation, slips Steve's shirt back on. He does tuck the shirt into his shorts, though - he's not an animal.

Bucky returns to the kitchen and puts the pasta on, before checking on his sauce. Sure, it's a while until dinner, but if he makes it now then they'll have time to do... other things. If Steve even wants that.

As Bucky waits for the pasta to cook, he starts to doubt himself. Yeah, Steve had said that he would wait for Bucky, but that was months ago. Maybe he'd changed his mind - maybe he'd gotten tired of waiting, maybe his love for Bucky is now strictly platonic, maybe he wasn't even in love with Bucky in the first place.

Bucky's jolted out of his slowly worsening panic attack by the front door opening, and he glances down at his phone for the time and realises that he'd spent a lot longer in the bathroom than he'd realised.

"Buck, I'm home!" Steve calls out, and Bucky can hear him shucking off his shoes. 

Working quickly, Bucky turns the heat off the stove and checks the pasta, silently thanking God that it's cooked, before grabbing the colander and draining the pot. Steve's still rustling around in the foyer, and his waffling gives Bucky enough time to dump the pasta into the sauce and give it a stir, before putting the lid on the pot.

"In here," Bucky calls, and he prays his voice doesn't waver. Steve rounds the corner into the kitchen and stops in his tracks, and his eyes snap down to Bucky's bare legs so quickly that Bucky has to try not to laugh, his doubts temporarily forgotten. Steve swallows a few times, his eyes darting over Bucky's body so quickly it's like he doesn't know where to look, before his gaze finally settles on Bucky's face.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" Steve croaks out. Bucky would think that he was upset if it weren't for the flush high on his cheeks.

"It's comfy," Bucky says, shrugging with a small smile. "You don't mind?"

"No!" Steve says quickly, his blush darkening. "No, of course not. You look... you look great, Buck."

Bucky blushes at that, ducking his head and turning his attention to cleaning up the mess he'd made on the bench. Steve comes up behind him after a few moments, silently grabbing a knife to start cleaning.

"What's all this?" Steve asks curiously.

"Made you dinner," Bucky replies simply, and he sees Steve scowl jokingly.

"I can see that, smartass," Steve snarks, nudging Bucky with his elbow. "It's four in the afternoon. Why did you make dinner?"

Bucky puts down the bowl he's rinsing out, that doubt rising back up again. "I, uh... I want to tell you something, Steve."

Steve's joking demeanour quickly falls, and his face becomes worried. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, you worry-wart," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "It's… it's about you and me."

Steve doesn't seem comforted by that; instead, his frown deepens. "Let's sit down?"

Bucky nods gratefully, and Steve takes his hands and leads him over to the couch. Bucky tucks his legs underneath him and sits facing Steve, their hands still clasped together.

"You remember," Bucky begins carefully, "a few months ago, where I told you I was falling in love with you?"

Steve's eyes grow fond. "Course, Buck. It was one of the best moments of my life."

Bucky squirms a bit at that, his gut getting filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling. "Does that mean you still feel the same way?"

"There's nothing that could make me stop."

Bucky has to close his eyes and concentrate in order to not lunge across the couch and into Steve's arms. "So… you remember how I said that I wasn't ready for a relationship?" When he opens his eyes again, Steve is staring at him with unbridled hope and eagerness, and it gives him enough courage to continue. "Well… I'm ready now."

"You're ready?" Steve repeats a bit dumbly, and Bucky feels an exasperated smile make its way onto his face.

"For a relationship, Steve. With you. If you're still willing."

Steve stares at him for a few seconds before his face breaks into an ecstatic grin, and before Bucky can say anything else he's getting wrapped up in those big arms and yanked across the couch and into Steve's lap. Bucky yelps and immediately grabs onto Steve's shoulders, but he has no time at all to catch his breath before Steve is capturing his lips in a frenzied, passionate kiss. And fuck, it's the best damn moment of his life.

Steve's lips are soft, but the way he licks into Bucky's mouth is positively feral, his tongue sending lightning hot sparks down Bucky's spine and his teeth grazing against Bucky's bottom lip in a way that makes Bucky whimper and bury his hands in Steve's hair, clinging to the short strands like they're the only things keeping him tethered to this planet. It's not a long kiss, but by the time Steve pulls away Bucky's panting like he's just run a marathon, his head spinning and heart pounding so loudly it's filling his ears with its beat.

"Sorry," Steve manages. He's out of breath too, his eyes shining and cheeks flushed, and god, Bucky wants to be _ruined_ by him. "I just... I've wanted to do that for so damn long."

"Don't you dare apologize," Bucky gasps out, tightening his grip on Steve's hair. "Kiss me again."

"If I start again, I might not be able to stop," Steve says breathlessly. Bucky shifts to properly straddle Steve's lap, and he gives one slow, deliberate roll of his hips. Steve's head falls back onto the back of the couch as he lets out a broken gasp, his arms tightening around Bucky's waist.

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, Bucky's closing the distance between them again to kiss Steve, gasping into the kiss when Steve's hips buck up into his, the hard line of Steve's cock obvious even through the denim of his pants. Steve's hands grapple at Bucky's back, his nails raking across Bucky's shirt and leaving white-hot imprints wherever they touch. Bucky tries desperately to press closer to Steve's body, addicted to the heat and strength coursing through those thick biceps, that barrel chest, those wide shoulders. It's not enough, it's not nearly enough, and Bucky scrabbles at the neck of Steve's shirt in an attempt to get the offending fabric out of his way.

"Wanna feel you," he mumbles against Steve's lips, and Steve's arms tighten around him.

"Fuck, baby, me too."

Then Steve's grabbing onto the backs of Bucky's bare thighs and standing up, not even breaking the kiss as he stumbles through the apartment and towards his bedroom. Bucky clings desperately to Steve's shoulders, his legs so tightly wound around Steve's waist that his calves start cramping. Steve bumps into several walls, a doorway, and a dresser before they're tumbling onto Steve's unmade bed, divesting each other of shirts before Steve's pressing Bucky back into the mattress, his hands still gripping tightly to Bucky's thighs.

"Fuck, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to get you all laid out for me like this," Steve whispers, moving to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to Bucky's jawline, to his neck. Bucky clings to him, his hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to get friction on his aching dick. "I wanna do so much to you, Buck."

"Tell me," Bucky gasps out, his hands frantically mapping out Steve's shoulders, his upper back. "Please, Stevie, tell me."

"I wanna fuck you," Steve groans, pressing his forehead to Bucky's chest. "Wanna suck at your nipples until they're all pretty and bruised, wanna suck you off while I finger you." His hands move up from Bucky's thighs to the waistband of his shorts, sliding them down slowly as he starts kissing down Bucky's chest. "Wanna get my tongue on that sweet hole, lick you open until you're screaming. Wanna fuck you in every damn room in this place until you're sloppy with my come, wanna sit back an' let you ride me until you come on my chest. You want those things, Buck? You want me to make you feel good?"

"God, yes," Bucky whimpers, spreading his legs wider until Steve's shoulders can fit between them. Steve's still in his jeans, but Bucky can see the way he's grinding his hips down into the bed as he sucks a mark onto Bucky's hip. "Fuck, want all of those things, Stevie."

"Yeah?" Steve's mouth moves lower, until his lips are brushing against the sensitive skin of Bucky's inner thighs. "Can I eat you out now?"

Bucky's nodding before Steve's even finished speaking, draping his legs over Steve's shoulders and burying his hands back into Steve's hair. He feels a puff of warm air against his hole, then Steve's pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against Bucky's hole. Bucky shrieks, his thighs clenching up and fingers tightening in Steve's hair, his dick twitching against his stomach and letting out a dribble of precome.

"Oh, _sweetheart_ ," Steve croons, giving Bucky's hole another lewd, filthy kiss. "Did you shave when I was gone?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes, craning his head to catch sight of Steve's bulk between his legs. The sight is so fucking hot that Bucky has to look away, throwing his head back with a moan and desperately trying to stave off his orgasm. "You didn't think I was planning this from the start? Gimme some credit, Rogers."

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, and Bucky can't help but join in. "Fuck, Bucky, I'm so crazy about you."

Before Bucky can reply Steve is diving back in, gripping Bucky's cheeks in his hands and licking sloppily at his hole like he's dying for it, and Bucky's mind goes blissfully blank. He can't think of anything other than Steve's lips, his tongue, his fingers that are probing the edges of Bucky's spit-loosened hole and the sparks of pleasure that are setting Bucky's blood on fire. 

It might be hours, it might be the blink of an eye, but soon Bucky's shamelessly grinding his ass back onto Steve's face, whimpers and cries falling from his lips and slowly building in volume until he's almost screaming. His orgasm feels like a slowly rising wave, so close to breaking but only just managing to stay upright, and just before the wave's about to crash Steve is slowing down, his kisses turning soft and chaste and his hands sliding down to rub circles into Bucky's thighs. Bucky lets his cramping hands fall from Steve's hair, breathing heavily as he closes his eyes and tries to bring himself far enough away from the edge that he doesn't feel like he's about to fall with the slightest touch. As he's calming down, Steve kisses his way back up Bucky's body, generously avoiding his nipples on the way up. When Steve settles back above him, their foreheads pressed together and Steve's breath on his face, Bucky opens his eyes.

"You're really good at that," Bucky croaks out, and Steve lets out a breathless laugh.

"I like doing it." Completely ignoring where Steve's mouth has just been, Bucky yanks him down into a kiss, going to wrap his legs around Steve's waist before he realizes that Steve is still in his jeans.

"Why do you still have pants on?" Bucky complains, and Steve laughs breathlessly.

"I was a little preoccupied, Buck." 

Steve has a big, dumb grin on his face, and Bucky wraps his arms and legs around Steve's body and flips them, grinning at Steve's dumbfounded look. Bucky resettles on Steve's lap and grinds his ass back against Steve's crotch, his grin widening when Steve gasps and tries to follow his hips. 

"Fuck, you're amazing," Steve gasps, and Bucky just has to lean down and kiss him again.

"My turn to make you feel good," Bucky replies, giving Steve one last peck before he's sliding down Steve's body, shamelessly groping at his chest and shoulders on the way. Steve raises himself onto his elbows to watch, his eyes dark as Bucky expertly undoes his fly and yanks his pants and underwear down. Steve's cock slaps onto his stomach lewdly, and Bucky can't mask the moan that escapes his lips at the sight of it. 

"Fuck, you're huge," Bucky says reverently, unable to do anything but stare. Steve's cock is, honestly, massive - long and thick and uncut, strangely pretty despite its size. When Bucky wraps his hand around the base, his fingers don't meet. "Holy shit."

"Okay?" Steve asks, and when Bucky looks up at him, he looks a bit nervous.

"More than okay," Bucky says emphatically, his eyes going back to Steve's cock. "I'm gonna suck you off now, then I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name."

Steve laughs, but it's a bit strained. In Bucky's hand, his cock jerks and dribbles out some precome. "Fuck, you're hot when you're bossy."

Bucky doesn't need any more encouragement than that; before Steve's even finished his sentence Bucky's leaning forward to lap up the precome, moaning when the salty taste hits his tongue. Above him, Steve swears and reaches down to grab a handful of Bucky's hair, and Bucky makes sure to make eye contact when he takes the head in his mouth and _sucks_. Steve shouts, his hips bucking up, and Bucky drops further onto his cock, taking it deep enough that it gets a bit hard to breathe. Bucky knows he's good at sucking cock - he's had more than enough practice - but Steve's is so big that even he is having trouble taking the whole thing. Steve's hands are fluttering around Bucky's face, gripping his hair and caressing his cheeks and tracing his lips where they're wrapped around Steve's cock. 

Bucky settles into a rhythm, wrapping his left hand around the base of Steve's cock and jerking what he can't get into his mouth, bobbing up and down and drinking down the precome that dribbles out onto his tongue. His free hand trails down to cup Steve's balls, full and heavy and just begging for Bucky to take them into his mouth - so he does, sucking one of them into his mouth at a time and revelling in the weight and girth of them. Steve's obviously trying to keep still, but his hips jerk up every so often as his whimpers and groans grow in volume, and fuck, the knowledge that Bucky's bringing this man to his metaphorical knees is hot as hell.

"Buck, Bucky, slow down," Steve finally gasps out, and Bucky immediately slides off his cock, moving to press soft kisses to Steve's hips. "Jesus Christ, you're amazing."

"Lots of practice," Bucky quips. Steve's expression goes dark and fuck, that's hot; Bucky's never been a fan of having a jealous or possessive partner - his lack of patience with Brock is proof enough of that - but having Steve get all riled up because Bucky's sucked dick in the past makes Bucky's hole clench and his cock twitch from its position against his thigh. Sliding back up Steve's body, Bucky straddles his hips and leans down to press a filthy kiss to Steve's lips, moaning when Steve's hands come up to grope his ass.

"You wanna stay on top?" Steve asks when they finally break apart, reaching over to the bedside table and rifling around in the top drawer until he pulls out a tube of lube. Bucky shakes his head and lowers his body until he and Steve are pressed together from chest to thighs, shivering when Steve's cock brushes against his hole.

"I want you to get me on my back and fucking destroy me," Bucky replies honestly - maybe too honestly, but he's horny and on top of Steve fucking Rogers, so he can't really be blamed for it. Steve gives Bucky's ass a squeeze and flips them over again, settling comfortably between Bucky's legs and popping the lid of the lube open.

"How many fingers d'you want?" Steve asks, tracing Bucky's rim with one slicked finger. Bucky shamelessly grinds back against it, and Steve dutifully slides the finger in to the third knuckle, sending sparks up Bucky's spine.

Trying to keep his head clear, Bucky glances down at Steve's cock. He hasn't had much action since Brock - not counting his toys, none of which come close to Steve's in length and width (to be honest, neither did Brock's, but Bucky doesn't really wanna think about him during the best sex of his life). "Four."

"You got it, Buck." Steve smacks a kiss to Bucky's cheek, before shuffling back down the bed to watch his finger moving inside Bucky's hole. Bucky reaches down blindly to grab Steve's free hand, and Steve squeezes his hand before adding a second finger. 

Bucky's still relatively loose from Steve's tongue and fingers earlier, and it's not long before Steve's got him speared on three of his fingers, the callouses on his fingertips scraping against Bucky's prostate on every thrust. Bucky's long since given up on silencing his cries, and his cock twitches insistently against his stomach, steadily leaking precome. Fuck, he can't remember the last time that prep felt so good - Brock had always put in only minimal effort, and his past boyfriends and one-night stands were usually more focused on sticking their dick somewhere nice and warm, rather than making it pleasurable for both of them. But Steve seemed to revel in making Bucky feel good; his eyes are glued to Bucky's hole, and he watches his fingers get swallowed up like it's the most incredible thing he's ever seen. When he finally adds a fourth finger, Bucky barely feels the stretch.

"Okay, okay I'm ready," Bucky gasps out, and Steve's eyes snap to his face.

"You sure, Buck?" he asks. His fingers rub against Bucky's prostate again, and Bucky arches off the bed with a cry.

" _Yes_ , I'm fucking sure," Bucky growls. "Get your amazing dick inside me and fuck me like you mean it."

"So demanding," Steve teases, but he takes his fingers out of Bucky's hole and reaches for the bedside table again, pulling a condom out of the same drawer the lube came from.

"Let's go get tested this week," Bucky says when Steve's taking the condom out of its packet. "I want you to come inside me."

"Fuck, Bucky," Steve groans, gripping his cock by the base as if he's trying to stave off an orgasm. "You can't just say stuff like that and not expect me to wanna blow my load immediately."

Bucky giggles and shifts into a more comfortable position, pulling his knees to his chest to give Steve better access. "Maybe I just like seeing how much I affect you."

Steve gives a breathless chuckle and leans over Bucky's body, and Bucky feels his latex-covered cock press against his hole. "You ready?"

Bucky nods and spreads his legs enough that Steve can settle between them, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck and pressing their foreheads together. "Yeah."

Steve leans down to kiss him again, softly licking into Bucky's mouth, before he starts pressing in. Bucky gasps into the kiss, his grip on Steve's shoulders automatically tightening, but then Steve's hands are cradling his face and Steve's body is covering his own, and Bucky can't help but moan quietly as Steve's hips finally come to rest against Bucky's ass. When they separate from the kiss, Steve's chest is heaving and his eyes are dark, the tension in his body evident when Bucky traces a hand down his bicep.

"Good?" Steve croaks out. Bucky nods wordlessly, unable to even form words through the haze of pleasure, and tightens his legs around Steve's waist. Steve lets out a shaky breath and drops his head to Bucky's chest, his arms sliding behind Bucky's back to press their bodies together. 

At the first roll of his hips, Bucky is throwing his head back with a gasp, hands shaking as they cart through Steve's hair. God, Steve's cock feels even bigger than it looked, and Bucky's suddenly very thankful for that fourth finger because he can still feel the stretch, and he doesn't wanna think about how sore he'd be if Steve was any less generous in his prep. Steve's hips are moving almost unconsciously, little rolls and thrusts that rub right up against Bucky's prostate and leave him begging for more, clinging to Steve's shoulders like they're the only thing keeping him alive. 

"More, Stevie, please," Bucky gasps out, and Steve's arms tighten around him as a puff of hot air tickles Bucky's neck.

"Not gonna last," Steve says hoarsely. In response, Bucky rolls his hips down as much as he can with Steve's bulk pinning him, and they both groan as Bucky's hole swallows up Steve's cock.

"You think I am?" Bucky asks, and he feels Steve chuckle against his neck.

"Fair point."

With that, Steve is pulling back a bit and gripping Bucky by the shoulders, before physically _pulling_ Bucky down on his cock. Bucky shouts, his nails raking down Steve's back as Steve starts a brutal pace, his hips snapping up and driving his cock deeper and deeper into Bucky's hole. It feels fucking amazing, and Bucky barely notices how much noise he's making, how the bedframe keeps banging against the wall as Steve's thrusts gain intensity. And the sounds Steve is making - god, they set Bucky's blood on fire; little grunts and moans and long, gasping breaths as he stares into Bucky's eyes like he's the most beautiful thing that Steve has ever seen. 

Soon enough Bucky's got tears in his eyes from the relentless pleasure, the constant stimulation to his prostate, the feeling of being so damn full of Steve's cock that he feels it in his throat. Steve isn't much better, and when his hips start losing their steady rhythm and his thrusts become more frantic, Bucky grabs him by the face and yanks him down for a sloppy kiss, whining when Steve shoves his tongue into Bucky's mouth. There's no finesse to it, no shame - their tongues curl together, their teeth bump, and god, Bucky wants Steve to tear him apart. 

"I'm gonna come," Steve sobs out, and Bucky clutches at him tighter, lets his hole clench up around Steve's cock. It's enough to tip Steve over the edge, it seems, and soon Steve is crying out and grinding his cock deeper into Bucky's body, his body shuddering as he comes. The sight is gorgeous, and Bucky's immediately reaching for his cock, jacking himself off frantically as Steve's cock pulses inside him, shooting off into the condom that Bucky wishes wasn't there. 

When Steve comes down he shakily reaches to cover Bucky's hand with his own, and it's only a few more strokes after that before Bucky's muscles are locking up and his world is exploding into colour, warm liquid spilling across his stomach. Through it all, Steve presses soft kisses to his neck, his face, and his hand gently strokes Bucky through his orgasm, his free hand tracing patterns in Bucky's ribs. 

It takes a while for Bucky's vision to clear and his breathing to come back to normal, and when he does he notices that their positions have changed. They're on their sides facing each other, Bucky's face pressed against Steve's chest and Steve's arms wrapped around his body. Steve's cock has slipped out of him, and Steve must have taken the condom off because it rests, soft, against Bucky's thigh. Steve is stroking Bucky's hair and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear, and it's so nice that Bucky almost doesn't want to move. He eventually does, though, pulling away just enough to meet Steve's eyes.

"Hey," Steve whispers. His voice is hoarse and his cheeks are flushed, his hair a complete mess, and fuck, he's the most beautiful thing Bucky's ever seen.

"Hey," Bucky parrots, shifting close enough that their noses are touching. Steve smiles at him, and leans forward to brush his lips across Bucky's. When he pulls away, Bucky's sure that he's got a matching smile on his face. "That was amazing."

" _You_ were amazing," Steve retorts, and Bucky can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing that dumb grin off his face.

"I'm a bit annoyed that we haven't been doing that the whole time," Bucky murmurs when they finally part.

"You needed time." Steve brushes a strand of hair out of Bucky's face. "I probably did, too. But we're here now, aren't we?"

"We are," Bucky agrees. He wraps a leg around Steve's, and Steve reaches down to hold his thigh. "Shower then food? We can watch a movie later and make out on the couch?"

Steve laughs softly, leaning in to press the softest of kisses to Bucky's mouth. "I love you so much, Buck."

Bucky closes his eyes, unable to help himself from smiling at those words. "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I chose chakrams to be the weapons to make the carvings because they're very similar to the shield, and I couldn't actually use the shield as the weapon since it's too bulky and its edge isn't sharp enough. If you wanna read more about them, click [here.](https://military.wikia.org/wiki/Chakram)
> 
> Also, we're officially halfway through this fic! Thank you so much to everyone who commented or gave kudos - I live off praise and positive affirmations, so your support means so much to me. If you wanna have a chat or just see what I'm getting up to, come visit my [tumblr.](https://wayward-lives.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> \- mentions of police corruption  
> \- mentions of pedophilia and child abuse

**November**

It's three months of bliss before Bucky's picture-perfect world is tested. Three months of waking up next to Steve, of soft kisses and lazy grinding sessions on the couch, of dates at pizza restaurants and museums and long hikes in the wilderness. Three months of the best sex he's ever had with the sweetest guy he's ever met turns out to do wonders for Bucky's mood, and he's had more than his fair share of sly comments and sexual innuendos thrown his way, most of them from Natasha, who seems to delight in it. The only bad thing about Bucky's life at the moment is work. 

It starts with the Commissioner of the NYPD, Alexander Pierce, getting arrested on charges of accepting bribes and connections to organized crime - one group in particular; Hydra. And somehow, despite all the evidence against him, Pierce manages to get acquitted of all crimes and even keep his job. 

"I don't understand how a man like that manages to avoid any consequences," Sam sighs, leaning back in his chair. Ever since the news dropped that morning, the whole precinct's been in chaos - Fury's in his office, yelling at someone over the phone, Hill's furiously typing away at her laptop, and Bucky hasn't stopped angrily pacing for about half an hour now.

"It's simple," Bucky snaps. Sam raises an eyebrow at his tone, but Bucky can't bring himself to care. "He's a rich, white man in a position of power. I'm surprised this info even hit the public."

"Could you stop pacing?" Sam asks wearily. "It's making me antsy."

Bucky stops in his tracks with considerable effort, taking a deep breath to try and keep from screaming. Sure, he'd already known how corrupted the police are - of course he'd known, it's his job to know. But the idea that the corruption was this deep, that the committee wouldn't even take Pierce out of his position of power, wouldn't even do anything about it, was just the last straw. The anger suddenly draining out of him, Bucky collapses on his chair, putting his head in his hands. 

"Tell me something to get my mind off this," Bucky says, his voice muffled. 

"Uh…" Sam trails off. "You want me to tell you about the Avenger case?"

"Any leads?"

Sam snorts. "What do you think?"

"I'm guessing there have been no deaths since Brock," Bucky mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"Y'know, I've been thinking about Brock," Sam says thoughtfully. "All of the Avengers victims have been Hydra, right? And we were _so_ convinced that the next victim would be Hydra, too. But I've looked through everything I have on Rumlow, talked to multiple people about him, and while he was absolutely a vile human being, there's no evidence of him being part of Hydra."

Bucky guiltily finds himself relieved at that; having an ex-boyfriend who turned out to be a serial abuser and rapist is one thing, but if Brock was part of Hydra? That might have broken him for good. "So, what, you think the Avenger wasn't the one to kill Brock?"

"No, he definitely killed him," Sam says quickly. "It's just… not for the same reasons. Even the… method of killing. The Avenger has never once killed someone so viciously - like, seriously, thirty stab wounds? I think he must have known Brock in life and had a personal vendetta against him. This isn't just the work of a man who kills for some fucked-up cause; this guy _wanted_ Rumlow to suffer."

"You got any suspects yet?" Bucky asks, and Sam shrugs. 

"I'm going through my list of people who knew Brock. I'll tell you if I find something out."

Bucky sighs, relaxing back into his chair. "Thank you, Sam. It means a lot to me."

"Hey, I get it," Sam says gently, nudging Bucky's foot with his own. "Even if he was a total dickhead, you were still together for a while. It makes sense you wanna know what happened to him."

Bucky doesn't answer, and instead nudges Sam's foot back and pretends the overwhelming emptiness he feels is because of Brock.

\------

Bucky comes home exhausted, and doesn't even acknowledge Steve's presence on the couch before flopping down beside him, burying his face in Steve's thigh. It isn't long before Bucky feels fingers cart through his hair, and he lets out a soft moan at the feeling.

"Hey, sweetheart," Steve murmurs, and god, just the sound of his voice has Bucky relaxing, the tenseness of his shoulders slowly draining away. "Rough day?"

Yes, it had been a bad day. After the whole Pierce debacle, Bucky had been investigating a rape case, and when he went to interview his main suspect, a middle-aged man with a wife and kids, the man's twelve-year-old daughter had taken him aside and told him that the man had been raping her since she was a child. Sure, the man was now tucked away in the precinct's holding cell awaiting the trip to prison and subsequent trial, but that little girl had stared up at Bucky with mournful brown eyes that were too much like Becca's for comfort, and now Bucky's falling. 

Instead of answering, Bucky nods his head and burrows closer to Steve, squeezing his eyes shut when they threaten to weep. Steve hums sympathetically and runs a hand down the length of Bucky's back. 

"Can I do anything to help?" he asks softly. His hands start kneading at Bucky's shoulders, and Bucky melts into his lap with a soft sigh. "Give you a massage, maybe? You're awfully tight, Buck."

"Thought you liked that about me," Bucky mumbles, and smiles sleepily when Steve laughs. "Mmkay. But y'gotta carry me to bed first."

Steve chuckles quietly, and Bucky feels a kiss being pressed to the nape of his neck. "Course, doll."

Bucky feels strong arms wrap around his back and the back of his thighs, and soon enough he's being lifted into the air and pressed against Steve's chest. Bucky buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck and inhales deeply, taking in the smell of Steve's aftershave and the slight tang of sweat, and when he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the skin beneath his lips, he feels Steve's throat vibrate with a hum. Soon Bucky's being laid down on their bed, and when Steve tries to pull away, Bucky catches him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him back down for a kiss. When they finally part, Steve's got his eyes closed and a smile on his face.

"That never gets old," he sighs. Bucky huffs and turns his head away to hide the redness of his cheeks, but all Steve does is give him another peck on the mouth before pulling away and sliding his hands down to the hem of Bucky's shirt. Bucky obediently raises his arms, and Steve peels off the shirt before throwing it somewhere behind him. Then Steve moves to Bucky's jeans, unzipping them and sliding them and his underwear down his legs, taking off Bucky's socks on the way. When the jeans meet the same fate as the shirt, Steve grips Bucky's hips and turns him onto his stomach, his touch never anything less than worshipful. Bucky blindly grabs for a pillow to put under his head, and closes his eyes when he feels Steve's lips on his shoulder blade.

"Thought you said you were givin' me a massage?" Bucky slurs. He hears the rustling of clothes, and before he knows it Steve's bare body is pressing against his back, the slight scrape of his chest hair sending shivers down Bucky's spine.

"I am," Steve murmurs. Bucky feels the press of Steve's cock, still mostly soft, against his ass cheek, and he can't help but grind lazily against it. "Not my fault it's better if there are no clothes."

Bucky chuckles quietly, but lets Steve tilt his head to the side for a kiss. "Like I can't see you angling for something else."

"Okay, so maybe I wanna eat you out a bit," Steve says, completely unapologetic. "And maybe finger you. It'd be a damn crime to have this gorgeous ass in front of me without givin' it a bit of attention."

"Don't feel like being fucked today," Bucky says sleepily. "But you can give me a couple of fingers, if you want."

Steve's lips brush against his cheek, then his nose. "Sure thing, Buck. Gimme a sec to grab some moisturizer."

"What, no fancy massage oil?" Bucky teases, not even bothering to lift his head to watch Steve walk into the bathroom. "Thought you were gonna treat me right, Rogers."

"Aw, Buck, if you want proper massage oil then you've gotta go buy it yourself," Steve says brightly. Bucky hears him make a little celebratory exclamation from the bathroom, obviously finding the moisturizer, and hides a smile. "Besides, moisturizer does the same thing."

"Uh-huh."

Steve's weight settles over the back of his thighs, and Bucky yelps when a playful slap lands on his ass. "Stop complaining and let me make you feel good."

"So bossy," Bucky murmurs, smiling when he's lightly spanked again. "Fine, I'll behave."

The moisturizer is cold, but the shock barely registers before Steve's hands are on him, warm and big enough to span across most of Bucky's back without trouble. He's gentle, but still gives enough pressure to work out the knots in Bucky's back, and fuck, it feels amazing. Bucky feels himself go boneless with a soft moan, surrendering himself to the feeling of Steve's hands on him, Steve's body resting on his thighs, Steve's cock brushing against his ass with every shift. Steve slowly works his way down Bucky's back, and by the time he gets to the small of his back Bucky's quivering, his cock hard and sliding against the sheets with every tilt of his hips. 

"Stevie," Bucky whimpers when lips caress his shoulder. He can feel Steve's smile against his skin, and those big hands slide further down to cup Bucky's ass. 

"Can I make you feel good, Buck?" Steve whispers, and Bucky shivers when Steve's breath hits his skin.

"Please," Bucky whines, and is rewarded with a kiss on the nape of his neck. 

Steve's body disappears from on top of him, but Bucky only has a second to miss the contact before he feels broad shoulders nudge their way between his thighs and hot breath brush against his ass. Bucky spreads his legs instinctually, his eyes fluttering closed as Steve's hands start their massaging again, rubbing small circles into the meat of his ass, his thighs, his hips. Every so often, Steve's fingers will trace across his hole, his balls, his cock, and little bolts of electricity will shoot up his spine. 

Bucky's close to being a human puddle by the time Steve puts his mouth on him, and even then he doesn't go straight for Bucky's hole. Instead, Steve licks and kisses and sucks a trail over Bucky's ass, down one cheek and up the other before he's lowering his head to suckle at the skin of Bucky's inner thighs, his nose bumping against Bucky's balls with every movement of his head. Bucky doesn't try and stop himself from lazily grinding back to try and follow Steve's mouth, and from Steve's appreciative hum it's obvious that he doesn't mind. Then Steve puts his mouth on Bucky's hole, and Bucky's mind goes blissfully silent.

\-------

When they've both come and Steve's wiped them down, Steve snuggles up to Bucky's body and wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders. Bucky sighs happily and buries his nose in Steve's neck, softly pressing kisses to the warm skin under his mouth. Steve tilts his head back with a soft sigh, and Bucky's lips slowly make their way up his neck, his jaw, until Steve's tongue is slipping into his mouth and Bucky's mind goes blissfully silent. When they finally break away, Steve's lips are swollen and his cheeks flushed, and Bucky can't help but reach out to trace the lines of his face with his fingers.

"You wanna talk about what got you so upset?" Steve murmurs, turning his head into Bucky's hand. 

"It's stupid," Bucky mumbles. Steve frowns and shifts even closer, his arms lowering to wind around Bucky's waist. He's close enough now that if Bucky were to move his head, their noses would brush.

"It's not stupid if it's made you feel sad," Steve says gently. His fingers trace patterns in the skin of Bucky's back. "What's going on?"

Bucky avoids his eyes, instead focusing on a lock of hair that's flopped forward onto Steve's forehead. It's sticking to his skin, sweat turning it from its usual pale gold to a deep golden brown, and Bucky reaches up to smooth it back into place. 

"Bad case today," Bucky mumbles, and Steve lets out a commiserating hum. 

"Seems like they're all bad cases recently."

Bucky doesn't respond, and instead shuffles forward until he can bury his face in the crook of Steve's neck again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the torrent of emotions that suddenly overcome him. It's all too much - Brock's death, the Avenger, the stack of case files on his desk that seems to be growing more every day - he can't stand it.

"I hate my job," Bucky whispers finally. It's half-muffled against Steve's bare skin, a dirty confession that he can't bring himself to say any louder. Steve's quiet above him, and Bucky centres himself by closing his eyes and listening to the steady rhythm of Steve's heart, strong and alive under his ear.

"Do you wanna quit?" Steve asks gently.

"I don't know," Bucky admits. "I'm doing good things, I _know_ that, but… I also know I work for a corrupted system. I know the bigotry that lives in my line of work. I… I don't wanna be a part of it anymore."

"What would you want to do instead?" Steve asks curiously.

He hasn't been without the police force since he was twenty-four, fresh out of the academy with a soul that was already too world-weary. Before that, he'd been living at home, desperately trying to care for his dying mother and his teenage sister while working any jobs he could get his hands on. 

"I could… go to school?" Bucky says hesitantly. "I've never been to college. I… honestly, I don't really know."

Steve's hands slide up Bucky's sides, up his neck, to cradle his face and coax him to look up. Bucky reluctantly meets Steve's eyes, and something in him unwinds at the love that's shining so brightly through that gaze.

"Whatever you do," Steve says, "I'll be right there beside you."

Bucky closes the gap between them and kisses Steve until his worries melt away.

\------

The next day when Bucky walks into the precinct, he immediately beelines for Fury's office, waving off Sam's attempt to call him over. Fury's sitting at his desk, as usual, his trademark scowl on his face as he glares down at his computer.

"Barnes," he greets, not taking his eyes off the screen. "This'd better be quick."

Wordlessly, Bucky takes his resignation letter out of his satchel and sets it on the desk next to the computer. Fury glances down at it and picks it up, his eyebrows steadily climbing up his forehead as he reads it over. When he's finished, he finally looks up at Bucky.

"You're resigning?"

"Yep," Bucky replies, popping the 'p'. Fury blinks a couple of times, and Bucky realizes that this is the first time he's ever seen the Captain so bewildered.

"You've been working here for nine years," Fury says next.

"Yep," Bucky agrees again. "I think I'm long overdue a change."

Fury's eye darts back down to the letter one more time before he puts it down with a sigh. "I never thought you'd be one to leave."

"I didn't either," Bucky admits, avoiding Fury's shrewd gaze. "But it's time for a change."

Fury hums, and he almost sounds wistful when he says, "Take care of yourself, Barnes."

Bucky declines to mention the fact that he still, technically, has two weeks to go, and instead gives a mock salute. "You got it, Captain."

When he leaves Fury's office, Sam waves him over quickly and slams a folder down in front of him as soon as he's sitting down.

"Good morning to you too," Bucky says amusedly, but Sam just waves a hand dismissively. 

"Shut up, Bucky, this is not the time to exchange pleasantries," Sam says a bit manically. His eyes are bloodshot and his facial hair a lot less groomed than it usually is, and Bucky's pretty sure that's Riley's shirt he's wearing. "Read this."

Bucky obediently opens the file and skims through it. Frank Castle, retired army vet, works at an animal shelter in Hell's Kitchen. The picture attached shows a broad-shouldered, square-jawed man with dark eyes and scars on his face, and he's looking at the camera with such a haunted expression that Bucky can't look at it for long before he has to turn away.

"What's this about?" Bucky asks, avoiding looking back into those mournful brown eyes. "Why've you got a whole file on this random guy?"

Sam leans forward, eyes glittering. "Because I think he's the Avenger."

Suddenly Bucky's a lot more interested. "Go on."

"Two years ago, Castle's wife and eight-year-old daughter were killed in a shootout between two rival gangs," Sam says, his eyes alight with probably too much energy for someone who looks like he's barely slept in the last week. "Those two gangs were the Irish and the Italian, but it was found that the people who'd begun the firefight and were responsible for the rivalry between the gangs were Hydra."

"That was the merry-go-round shootings, wasn't it?" Bucky asks. He remembers hearing about it on the news and talking to a friend from one of the precincts in Hell's Kitchen. "I didn't know it was Hydra's doing."

"That's not the best part," Sam says gleefully. "We know that at least two of our Avenger victims was directly connected to the shooting. The Morwell brothers were there that day."

"You're kidding me," Bucky breathes out.

"Nope," Sam replies, a giant grin on his face. "And, even better, Castle's unit in the army used to do work at the same security firm Rumlow worked."

"A direct connection to three victims?" Bucky asks in awe. "Holy shit, Sam, this is a lead! A really fucking strong one!"

"Right?!" Sam agrees jubilantly. "I'm gonna start investigating him as soon as I get a proper night's sleep."

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head as Sam buries his face back into his computer, furiously tapping away at the keys. No matter how bad his job has become, the feeling of getting a lead on a case is heady, even if it's not his case. 

"Sam," Bucky says, surprising even himself at the sudden words. Sam looks up, and Bucky can't help but wince at how bloodshot his eyes are.

"What's up? You'd better get it out quickly, cause my attention span is dangerously small at the moment and I might zone out."

Bucky's plan is to break the news to Sam slowly, but instead, as soon as he opens his mouth he's blurting out, "I'm quitting."

Sam blinks at him a few times, his face blank. "Quitting what?"

"The force," Bucky elaborates. "I'm quitting."

Sam just sits there for a few seconds, mouth hanging open, and as the time passes Bucky becomes more and more anxious. Just as he's about to burst out of his skin, Sam finally asks, "Why?"

"Because it isn't making me happy anymore," Bucky says quietly, looking down at his hands. "The police doesn't stand for the same thing it used to. Pierce was the last straw."

"And leaving will make you happy?" Sam asks.

Will it? Happiness is such a strange, fickle thing. Bucky could be unemployed for a week and find out he hates it, or he might never want to work again a day in his life. He might regret his choice within a month, or he might look back on it years later and think it was the best choice he's ever made. But right here, and right now, with Sam watching him solemnly from across the desk, Bucky knows his answer.

"Yes."

**January**

Bucky's waist-deep in job applications when he hears the front door opening, and he glances up blearily to see it's already dark outside. Steve's got his back to him as he kicks off his shoes, and Bucky's struck by the sight - how had it only been a year ago that he was living with Brock, unhappy and trying not to let his gaze wander to his new friend? 

"Looks like someone forgot the time again," Steve teases, flopping down on the couch beside Bucky and pulling him into his arms. Bucky lets the laptop fall from his lap and onto the cushion beside him, and winds his arms around Steve's neck to yank him in for a kiss. Steve's hands slide down to squeeze Bucky's thighs, and Bucky lets out a peal of laughter when Steve playfully nips at his chin.

"Someone's in a mood tonight," he gasps, and Steve retaliates by sucking a bruise onto Bucky's neck.

"Can't I just be happy to see my best guy after a long day without him?" Steve asks, giving Bucky's neck one last kiss before pulling away to look Bucky in the eyes. "How's the job hunt going?"

"Awful," Bucky admits, scratching his fingernails lightly through Steve's hair. Steve unabashedly leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed as he hums happily. "I was bitching about it to Sam earlier."

"He still miffed you left him all alone at the station?" Steve asks with mock seriousness, laughing when Bucky gives him a shove.

"He's not alone, he has Nat and Clint," Bucky replies haughtily. "He invited me out to lunch tomorrow. Said he had something to talk to me about."

Steve's expression goes a bit concerned. "Is everything okay?"

Bucky hesitates. "I think so? He sounded a bit stressed, but that might just be the case wearing on him."

Steve hums. "Give him my best when you see him. And maybe ask him if he and Riley wanna come over some time - we haven't seen them in a while."

"Hmm," Bucky responds, but he can't really concentrate, not when Steve's hand is slowly sliding up his shirt and thumbing at his nipple. Steve gives him a smirk and pinches his nipple, and Bucky gasps, tightening his grip on Steve's shoulders.

"You doing okay there, Buck?" Steve asks innocently.

"Fuck job hunting," Bucky says through gritted teeth. He stands up suddenly, not giving Steve time to react before he's yanking Steve after him and frog-marching them to the bedroom. "You're gonna fuck me through the mattress, then we're gonna get shitty takeout and eat it in bed, then we're gonna suck each other's dicks as you use that new vibe on me."

"I do love a man with a plan," Steve says, before he's sweeping Bucky off his feet and throwing him onto the bed. Bucky shrieks with laughter and yanks Steve down on top of him, his world narrowing to the body on top of him and the lips scorching kisses into his skin.

\------

The café that he's meeting Sam in is in Crown Heights, a big, open space with dark wood floors that's owned by an older man and his wife. It's relatively crowded, but Bucky spots Sam at a table in the corner of the room, sipping on a mug of coffee with a half-eaten sandwich sitting next to him. 

The first thing Bucky notices about Sam as he approaches is that he looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, his normally well-groomed facial hair grown out into a scruffy beard - hell, he even looks thinner, his clothes hanging off him in a way that just isn't natural. It makes Bucky's heart ache, and he pulls Sam into a hug as soon as he gets close enough, not giving a shit that they're in the middle of a café and blocking the flow of customers. Sam clings to him tighter than he has for a long time, his body trembling.

"Hey," Bucky says softly, loosening his grip. Sam reluctantly pulls away and gives Bucky an obviously forced smile as if to reassure him, but it only makes the pit in Bucky's stomach deeper. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired," Sam admits, sitting back down and wrapping his hands back around his mug. "Riley keeps watching me like I'm about to snap."

"Are you?" Bucky asks, and Sam grimaces.

"I thought I was going fine," he says quietly, lowering his gaze. "I've worked hundreds of cases, seen hundreds of bodies, met the absolute fucking scum of humanity. This is hardly the worst case I've ever been on. But… I've never had a case that was directly connected to someone I care about."

Sam takes a shaky breath again, swiping his hand over his face, and Bucky reaches across the table to grip his forearm reassuringly.

"I watched Castle for two months," Sam says when he's pulled himself together again. "I watched him every day, and when I was staking out his home, the Avenger killed another person."

Bucky feels his stomach drop. "There was another body?"

"December 16th," Sam sighs. "A guy named Helmut Zemo was found shot through the head in his home. Another Hydra member."

"So you're back at square one," Bucky says, deflating. "Fuck, you'd been so close."

"Bucky," Sam says, and there's something hesitant in his voice that makes Bucky look up again. "I'm not back at square one."

Bucky frowns. "I don't understand."

"I have another suspect," Sam elaborates, and god, he looks like he's about to cry. 

"That's great!" Bucky says, but falters at Sam's expression. "Isn't it?"

Sam swallows, his face pinched and exhausted. "Bucky, it's Steve."

It takes a second for those words to hit him, but when they do, it feels like being hit by a truck.

Steve.

Sam thinks it's Steve.

Steve, who wakes Bucky up every morning with soft kisses and a mug of coffee, brewed just how Bucky likes it.

Steve, who desperately wanted to impress Becca when she came over, and tried making a cake that ended with the smoke alarm being set off and the building evacuated.

Steve, who kissed Bucky in front of his apartment on his birthday.

Steve, who told Bucky he loved him on a drizzly night in April.

Steve.

_Steve._

"Bucky?"

Bucky blinks the fog from his eyes to see Sam watching him worriedly from across the table, leaning forward and reaching out but somehow unable to touch him. Bucky looks down at his hands to find them clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles white and the bones sticking out starkly against the skin. He slowly unclenches them, and a twinge of pain tells him his fingernails broke the skin of his palm. 

"No."

His voice is shaky, barely there, and when he looks up at Sam he finds his friend looking almost alarmed.

"Bucky-"

"No," Bucky says again, stronger this time. "You're wrong."

Sam looks pained. "Bucky, where was Steve on the evening of December 16th?"

December 16th. Bucky remembers it well - they'd planned a date night. Steve was going to come home from work early, and they were going to go out to the little Italian restaurant that had just opened up a few blocks away. But Steve had called at six, telling Bucky there had been an emergency and he had to cancel the date. He hadn't been home until midnight.

"You're wrong," Bucky says again, his voice shaking so much he can barely make out the words coming out of his mouth. 

"Think about it, Bucky," Sam pleads, leaning forward. "Brock was killed a week after you broke up with him. Steve was part of a special ops team in the army called the Howling Commandos, whose job it was to destroy Hydra cells in the Middle East and Europe. The star carved into each victim's chest - the insignia of the Howling Commandos was a star. Steve left the army after an IED killed half his squad and crippled the rest back in 2013, just before our task force was formed to get rid of Hydra. They only started coming back a couple of years ago. When the killings started. Are you really that confident that you know who he is?"

Bucky's shaking his head, his vision blurring and body trembling as Sam talks, a black pit of doubt steadily growing bigger and bigger in his gut. Unable to stand it Bucky stands up, almost falling over before catching himself on the table and stumbling out of the café. He can't stay in there any more - the walls feel too constricting, the chatter of the other patrons becoming deeper, more sinister. The outside is better, albeit barely - everything's too loud, too much, and Bucky hurries down the street in a daze, barely seeing where he's going. He can distantly hear Sam's voice calling him back, but he can't go back, can't even look at Sam. He needs to get home, needs to get back to Steve.

Steve, who Sam thinks is the Avenger.

Letting out a sob, Bucky flags down the nearest taxi and hurriedly gets in, stumbling over his address when the driver asks where he wants to go. The last glance he gets of Sam is his friend standing on the sidewalk, looking utterly devastated.

\------

Bucky only remembers that it's Steve's day off when he stumbles into the apartment to find Steve sitting at the table eating a sandwich, and a torrent of emotions run through him at the sight. Relief, guilt, doubt, love. Fear.

"Bucky?" Steve asks in alarm, standing up when he catches sight of him. Bucky's sure he probably looks like a mess; eyes red-rimmed, face blotchy with tears, hair falling out of its ponytail and whipped around his face from the wind.

"Stevie," Bucky sobs out, and launches himself into Steve's arms. Steve holds tightly as he breaks down, staining Steve's shirt with his tears and desperately clutching at the body pressed against him. Steve feels so strong, so solid against him, so safe, and Bucky squeezes his eyes tightly shut as Sam's words make their way into his head once again. _Are you really that confident that you know who he is?_

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Steve soothes gently, and Bucky raises his head to look up at the man he loves.

"It's not," he manages to get out, his voice interspaced with hiccups. Steve's eyes are wide with worry as he reaches up to wipe the tears from Bucky's face, and Bucky's grip on his shirt tightens. "Stevie, December 16th. Where were you?"

Steve looks bewildered now as well as concerned. "I was caught up at work, I told you this. Thor needed to go home early and I had to set up the new gallery show myself."

"And Brock?" Bucky presses, clinging to Steve's shirt as tightly as he can. "He was murdered a week after I left him. A _week_ , Stevie."

"Bucky, what's going on?" Steve asks, and his voice is trembling now. "Baby, you're scaring me."

"Sam thinks you're the killer," Bucky says shakily, and Steve's face turns stricken. "He thinks you're the Avenger."

"And… and you believe him?" Steve asks, his voice incredibly small.

"I don't know _what_ to believe!" Bucky cries out. Steve tries to step away, but Bucky goes right with him, pressing their bodies together tight enough that it's almost uncomfortable. "He told me about your team from the Army, about your involvement with Hydra - you match the profile exactly, I don't know where you were when the killings happened - Stevie," and Bucky's voice breaks on this, "Stevie, tell me the truth."

Steve takes a shaky breath and leans in, burying his face in Bucky's hair. Bucky lets him, feeling himself relax at the soft puffs of air that hit his forehead as Steve exhales.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my team," Steve whispers into Bucky's hair. "I… I can't talk about it. Not really. My… three of my team died. The other two got injured so badly that they're still recovering, almost a decade later. One of them's braindead - the only thing keeping him alive is a machine." Steve lets out a small sob, and Bucky feels tears against his head. "The - the other one, he's got brain damage. He can't remember me, his family, his own name… the doctors said his hippocampus was completely destroyed, along with parts of his frontal lobe. I… I was the only one to get away mostly unscathed." Almost unconsciously, Steve's hand moves up to press against his left ear, and when Bucky glances up he can see the tiny hearing aid snugly sitting in Steve's ear.

"And the killings?" Bucky asks, his voice incredibly small.

"I haven't killed a human being since the army," Steve replies softly.

"You promise?"

At that, Steve pulls away just enough to look Bucky in the eyes, his hands cradling Bucky's face. There are tears in his eyes, and his bottom lip is trembling so much that Bucky reaches up to smooth his thumb across it, just to get it to stop.

"I would _never_ lie to you, Bucky Barnes," Steve whispers, and leans in to press a hard kiss against Bucky's lips. "I promise."

Bucky yanks Steve closer again, jumping up to wrap his legs around Steve's waist as he tugs him in for another brutal kiss. Steve catches him effortlessly, stumbling backwards until he's turning and pressing Bucky against the kitchen table, pushing his abandoned plate out of the way. Bucky hears it smash on the floor, but he can't bring himself to care - not when Steve's hands are all over his body, gripping his ass, his thighs, his waist. Bucky shoves his hands under Steve's shirt and grinds up against him, a vicious kind of satisfaction welling up inside him when Steve whimpers at the friction. Steve's hands are at his belt, then, yanking Bucky's pants and underwear down in one motion before doing the same to himself, and when their naked cocks press together Bucky's hands in Steve's hair tighten as he lets out one long whine. 

It's messy and uncoordinated, a bit too dry with nothing but precome to slick the way as they desperately grind against each other, Bucky's pants hanging off one ankle and Steve's around his knees, their shirts rucked up and mouths swollen and numb from kissing. When Bucky comes, it's with a sob as he clings to Steve and tightens his grip on the hair under his hands, and Steve doesn't last much longer after that, burying his face in Bucky's neck as he whimpers and grinds his cock into Bucky's thigh. When they're done they don't move from their spot on top of the kitchen table, Bucky still with his legs wrapped around Steve's waist and Steve collapsed on Bucky's chest, his face still pressed into Bucky's neck. Bucky runs his fingers softly through Steve's hair, half-asleep and basking in the post-orgasm glow and the feeling of Steve's body on top of his. When Steve finally does pull away, he kicks off his pants all the way and lifts Bucky into his arms, stumbling across the living room to collapse on the couch, arranging them so that Bucky's on his back and Steve's still between his legs. Bucky gladly melts into the kiss that Steve presses to his lips, winding his arms around Steve's shoulders to pull him closer.

"I live for you, my darling," Steve whispers against his lips, and god, Bucky would die for this man.

"And I, you," Bucky murmurs. Steve kisses him again, and Bucky falls into it, pushing Sam's words to the back of his mind, along with the small seed of doubt that won't go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh I'm so sorry this took so long (read: like two weeks). My computer died so I had to get a new one, then I started school again last week and I've spent all my spare time working on a fucking 4000-word essay that's due on Friday, so please have this as a token of my apologies.
> 
> Again, there are more time skips. There will be quite a few the next couple of chapters, before we hit the climax of the story in chapter 11 (agh we're so close!!!) As you can see, I have once again updated the chapter count from 16 to 15 - there will be five more proper chapters, then an epilogue, and I honestly can't believe how far through this we are! Thank you all so much for your support, I couldn't have done this without you


	10. Chapter 10

**February**

Two weeks later, and Sam's words have made the small seed of doubt in Bucky's gut turn into a massive, uncontrollable thought, constantly in the back of his head and whispering in his ear every time he looks at Steve. Bucky finds himself obsessively checking the news for updates on the case, looking back at the nights where a body had been found and whether he knew where Steve was.

Brock was killed when he was at Becca's.

Stern was killed after Bucky blew Steve off to spend time with Brock.

Zemo was killed when Steve was alone, late, at the gallery.

Sam had ended up questioning Steve about his whereabouts not long after they'd talked, bringing Steve into the station and recording the interrogation, and Bucky had spent the entire day pacing their apartment, feeling almost sick with worry. What if they arrested Steve, and he didn't come home? What if they thought that Steve had done it and arrested him, even if he was innocent?

Steve had come home around five, and Bucky had curled up in his lap on the couch and refused to move for a good few hours.

_What if Steve was guilty?_

Whenever Bucky's mind comes to that thought, he viciously shoves it from his mind and ignores the whispered voice in his ear. All the evidence against Steve is circumstantial, and even that isn't strong. There's nothing concrete linking Steve to the murders, and Bucky finds himself selfishly praying for another body to turn up, just to show that it isn't possible that Steve could have done anything.

Steve seems to have picked up on Bucky's mood, and since that night two weeks before, he's been right by Bucky's side at almost all hours of the day, doing the majority of his work from home instead of at his studio. It shouldn't have been so reassuring, to have Steve with him almost constantly, but Bucky can't help but tense up whenever Steve is even out of his line of vision. 

Their sex life has taken a bit of a turn, too. Where they used to be playful and sensual, their lovemaking has turned much more sombre. It's desperate at times, with scrabbling hands and not enough lube and whimpers of both pain and pleasure, but at other times Steve lays Bucky out on the bed and takes his time, almost like he's savouring what might be their last moments together. Bucky isn't innocent in this either, and instead clings to Steve like he's about to be ripped from his embrace. Neither of them talk about it.

It's a Wednesday night, cold enough outside that the streets are slippery with ice, but warm enough that the snow coming down is more like sludge, piling up around the footpaths and gutters like sad, dead snowmen. Bucky's just come back from spending the day at Becca's place, babysitting Max while Becca's at work and the daycare is closed. He's sitting on the couch lazily texting Natasha, who's trying to get him to go out with her to a bar as her wingman, since apparently she and Clint are back in their "off" stage of their on-and-off relationship/fuckbuddy/whatever the hell they have going on when the doorbell rings. Bucky looks up, curious, and checks his watch. Sam and Riley have their date night tonight, so it can't be either of them, and Steve has a key. It might be Clint, but from what Natasha told him, Clint's visiting his brother's farm for the week, down in Indiana. Warily making his way over to the door, Bucky opens it only to have the breath leave him in one sudden gush.

Steve's dressed in a suit. Dark blue slacks and blazer and a white collared shirt are tailored almost perfectly to his body, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair, for once, isn't all over the place, and is instead slicked back against his head, not a strand out of place. In his hands, he holds a bouquet of baby's breath and a box of chocolates.

It takes a few seconds for Bucky to gather his thoughts, and when he finally drags his gaze up to Steve's face, he sees that Steve's blushing faintly, a shy smile on his lips.

"Hey, sweetheart," Steve says, and before he knows it Bucky's being pulled in by a hand on his waist and into a long, slow kiss that sends sparks running down his spine. Bucky melts into Steve's body, resting his hands on the soft, silky fabric of his blazer as he's kissed within an inch of his life. When Steve finally pulls away, Bucky has to shake his head a bit to clear the fog from his mind.

"Where'd you get the suit?" he breathes out, running his hand over Steve's chest. God, he didn't know that Steve could get even more attractive than he already was, but _fuck_ , Bucky's having a hard time stopping himself from dropping to his knees and giving Steve the sloppiest damn blowjob of his life.

"Had it at the office," Steve murmurs, tucking a lock of hair behind Bucky's ear. "It's been sitting there since my last gala. Thought I might put it to good use."

Stepping away from Bucky, Steve holds out the bouquet, which is now looking a little squashed from their impromptu make-out session in the doorway. "I thought of buying you roses, but I thought you might appreciate these a bit more."

Bucky takes the flowers, feeling his eyes sting with tears. The scent of the flowers conjures up images in his mind; Prospect Park, lit only by streetlights. A warm hand in his. A soft smile and a sprig of baby's breath tucked behind his ear. When Bucky looks back up at Steve he sees him watching him with a soft smile, his hands in his pockets.

"What's this all about?" Bucky croaks, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes surreptitiously.

Steve smiles a bit sympathetically. "Buck, you know what the date is today?"

Bucky wracks his brain for an answer. It's mid-February, he knows that. It can't be their anniversary, that isn't until August, and they first met in October, so it can't be that. It takes a few seconds before Steve takes pity on him.

"It's Valentine's day, Buck."

Oh. Right.

" _Shit_ ," Bucky says emphatically. "Fuck, I didn't even know. I didn't get you anything!"

"It's alright," Steve soothes, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I've got reservations at the pizza place on the waterfront for eight. The place we went for your birthday?"

"You're wearing a suit to the mob front pizza joint?" Bucky asks incredulously, and Steve beams at him.

"Yep, and so are you."

"I don't have a suit, Steve," Bucky protests weakly as Steve herds him through the apartment and into the bedroom.

"But you _do_ have some very nice shirts, and I know that you own at least one pair of slacks and dress shoes," Steve counters, smacking a kiss to Bucky's cheek and taking the flowers from his hands. "Now get dressed and be ready to leave in ten. I'll get these in water."

Bucky can only watch in absolute astonishment as Steve gives his ass a playful slap, then saunters out of the room. He hasn't seen Steve this carefree in what feels like forever - not since before the events of a few weeks ago. It's… nice.

Feeling a smile make its way onto his face, Bucky turns to his closet and grabs his rarely-worn dress shoes, his black slacks, and, after some deliberation, a burgundy button-up. It's cold enough outside that he'll need a jacket, so he also pulls out his black peacoat. Putting his hair in a quick braid, Bucky checks his reflection in the mirror, deems himself decent, and steps out of the bedroom. Steve's arranging the flowers in a vase that Bucky didn't even know they owned, the chocolates sitting on the bench next to him, and as soon as he sees Bucky he's walking over to slide his hand into the back pocket of Bucky's slacks.

"You look amazing," Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky's forehead. "You ready to go?"

"I still don't understand why we're dressed up," Bucky grumbles, but he slides his arm around Steve's waist anyway. "We could go wearing striped pyjamas and they'd still let us in."

"Because it's fun," Steve replies brightly, leading Bucky out of the apartment. "And also I can't afford to take you to a fancy restaurant, so this is all you get."

"A fancy restaurant sounds boring, anyway," Bucky agrees, and Steve smacks a kiss to his hair again.

"Exactly. And this way we can play footsies under the table without being glared at by waitstaff."

Bucky can't help but laugh at that, and Steve's answering smile warms him from the inside.

They catch the subway to Coney Island, and it's barely a ten-minute walk before they reach the little pizza joint. The night is cold, and Bucky gleefully takes advantage of that by wedging himself under Steve's arm to steal his body heat. Steve doesn't seem to mind, with the way he wraps his arm around Bucky's shoulders and kisses the top of his head. There aren't many people out on the street, but every time they pass a restaurant it's filled with couples, wrapped up in each other and without a care in the world. It's strangely comforting, Bucky thinks as he presses himself further into Steve's side, that tonight, they're nothing more than another pair of lovers, out enjoying the night.

The pizza joint looks pretty much the exact same as it did a year before, and it's almost empty inside but for an older man sitting at one of the booths by himself. The staff don't even blink at Steve and Bucky's clothes, and instead just lead them to a booth in the back, handing them each a menu before departing. The table is a bit sticky, and the booth is more than a little uncomfortable, but then Steve sits right beside him like he did the last time they were here, and Bucky's falling in love all over again.

"What did we get last time?" Steve wonders, resting his arm over Bucky's shoulders again. "That was good."

"Was it the margarita?" Bucky asks. "We could get that and a garlic bread to share."

"Sounds good to me," Steve replies, and Bucky feels an ankle hook around his own as Steve flags down a server. 

When the server's come and gone, they sit in comfortable silence for a while, pressed side to side. Bucky rests his head on Steve's shoulder, letting his eyes slip closed in contentment. The shop is warm, and when Steve takes his hand it gives Bucky something to cling to, something to keep him tethered to earth.

"Hey," Steve finally says, nudging Bucky with his shoulder. Bucky reluctantly lifts his head from its comfortable position to look up, meeting Steve's eyes. Steve looks so fond, so soft, and Bucky lets out a soft sigh of contentment when Steve's free hand cups his jaw.

"Hey," Bucky mimics, and Steve's eyes crinkle as he smiles. 

"I know that things have been... hard," Steve starts, sounding a bit hesitant, "for the past month or so. And I'm sorry for that."

"It's not your fault, Steve," Bucky starts, but stops when Steve gives him a pleading look.

"Just listen, okay? I know things have been hard for you. And I wanna make things better for you." Steve's thumb brushes over Bucky's cheek gently, and Bucky can't help but lean into it with a quiet hum. 

"You already are," Bucky murmurs, squeezing Steve's hand. "You make everything better. Honestly, without you, I'd probably be a wreck."

Steve doesn't laugh as Bucky expected; instead, he lets go of Bucky's hand to cradle his face with both hands, his eyes serious. 

"You're my whole world, Bucky Barnes," Steve whispers. "The only thing I want in life is to see you happy. And I promise, I'll do whatever I can to get that smile back on your face."

Bucky can't help himself; he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Steve's hair and pulls him down for a kiss, his hands shaking and his body feeling lighter than it has in weeks. When he finally pulls away, Bucky presses his forehead to Steve's, not taking his hands out of Steve's hair.

"I love you," Bucky whispers, and his voice cracks. "So much."

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's body and pulls him close, holding him so tightly that it's almost uncomfortable. Bucky buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck and squeezes his eyes shut, the weight of Steve's arms around him making him feel small, safe.

"I love you too," Steve murmurs, his voice shaky. "Anything you want, I'll burn down the world just to give it to you."

Bucky doesn't respond, and instead holds Steve just a bit tighter. They stay like that until their food arrives.

\------

When they leave the pizza place, the mood has lightened considerably. They're both full from pizza and slightly tipsy from the lukewarm beers they'd ordered - not too much, but just enough that Bucky doesn't try to stop himself from sliding his hands under Steve's shirt as they walk down the beach. Steve's got his head thrown back as he laughs, and Bucky finds himself grabbing Steve by the front of the shirt and pulling him underneath the boardwalk, pressing Steve up against the wall and closing the space between them. Steve's got a grin on his face as he wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders, and Bucky grins back as he leans up to rub their noses together. Steve places one giant hand on the back of Bucky's head and pulls him forward, their lips sliding together messily, tasting of cheap beer and pizza.

"Let's run away," Bucky says a bit breathlessly when they part for air. "Get some cabin in the mountains. Just the two of us."

Steve laughs, unapologetic in his glee, and god, Bucky could drown in that sound. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky giggles, pressing his forehead to Steve's neck. "We can get a dog. Something big, like a husky or something, and a little white cat. You can sell your art independently and I can have a vegetable garden and sell produce."

"I can build us a house," Steve says, carefree and excited. "I'll build the bed that we'll sleep in, I'll build our whole world up from scratch if that's what you want me to do."

"I didn't know you could do carpentry," Bucky says curiously, and Steve lets out another laugh.

"I can't. I got no fuckin' clue how to do it, but I'll learn."

Bucky laughs at that, and then Steve's arms are wrapping around his waist and he's being swung off his feet and into Steve's arms. Bucky shrieks gleefully and yanks Steve's head down for a kiss, and they topple onto the sand, a pile of limbs and mirth. Bucky doesn't try and untangle himself, and instead hauls Steve's body on top of him, yanking him down for a kiss. 

"And after I've built you a house," Steve whispers against Bucky's lips, "after I've given you everything I have, I'll give you the ring my father gave to my mother, and I'll slide it right onto your finger." A warm, large hand covers Bucky's and guides it upwards, and Steve leans back just enough to press a kiss to Bucky's ring finger.

"I'll say yes," Bucky whispers back, cradling Steve's face. "I'll always say yes to you."

When they get home that night, they don't even make it to bed before their clothes are falling to the floor and their bodies are pressing together so tightly that Bucky's sure they've merged into one. He rides Steve on the couch, foreheads pressed together and skin still crusty with salty air and sand, and as he comes with a breathless cry, Bucky feels Steve's lips against his neck, whispering promises that Bucky knew that he intended to keep. They wash off afterwards in the bath in rose-scented water, feeding each other the chocolate that Steve had brought home, and when they finally tumble into bed Steve slips back inside his body and presses him into the mattress, their fingers twining together as they move. They fall asleep immediately after, curled together so tightly that Bucky doesn't know where he ends and Steve begins. It's with a pleasant ache in his bones and his heart full of love that Bucky drifts off to sleep, tucked in Steve's embrace and feeling safer than he has for the past month.

\-----

Bucky's woken up by the sound of someone banging on the front door far too loudly for his comfort. He lies there with his eyes closed for a second, before rolling over and burying his face in Steve's armpit. Steve, somehow, is still snoring away happily, blissfully unaware to the assault on Bucky's ears. Bucky eventually manages to tune out the noise, and he's close to falling back asleep before an ear-splitting bang echoes around the apartment, quickly followed by the sounds of pounding feet. Bucky barely manages to sit up in bed before the bedroom door is flung open and armoured men come pouring in, shouting at the top of their lungs. Before Bucky can even react they're coming around the bed and grabbing a still half-asleep Steve by the hair, yanking him out of bed and forcing him to the ground.

"The hell is this about?" Bucky shouts, confusion giving way to rage. "You think you have the right to just barge in here -"

"Steven Grant Rogers," one of the men interrupts him, his gun pointed directly at Steve. "You're under arrest for the murder of Alexander Pierce and the Avenger killings."

"He's _what?_ " Bucky says disbelievingly, at the same time that Steve growls, "Are you fucking serious?"

"You have the right to remain silent," the first officer talks over them as Steve is hauled to his feet and a pile of clothes is tossed at him. "Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law."

Bucky tunes him out, stumbling out of bed and grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the floor, yanking them on hurriedly as Steve does the same across the room - although Bucky doesn't have six guns pointed at him while he does it. Steve's barely got his shirt over his head before he's being grabbed by the arms and roughly marched out of the room, and when Bucky tries to follow he feels a hand close around his arm.

"Mister Barnes." Bucky turns his head to glare at the SWAT team member, whose face pales behind his helmet. Unfortunately, he doesn't let go of Bucky's arm. "You'll have to stay here."

"I am _not_ staying here," Bucky hisses venomously, wrenching his arm out of the man's grip. "You come into my home, you violently arrest my boyfriend despite the fact that he was _half asleep_ , and then you have the _audacity_ to tell me that I can't come?"

The man's sweating now, but he still blocks Bucky's way when he tries to leave. "Your boyfriend is a violent criminal, mister Barnes - he killed a man just a few hours ago."

"Bull _shit_ ," Bucky roars. "He was with me all night - do you have _any_ proof to suggest that Steve killed last night, or did you just jump into this with a halfcocked plan and decide to arrest the first person who catches your eye?"

Not letting the man respond, Bucky shoves past him, racing down the stairs of the apartment complex to the street. There's a high-security van parked outside, with Steve being shoved into the back, and Bucky doesn't hesitate in stalking over and climbing in right next to him. The SWAT member in the back with them opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky shoots him such a venomous glare that his mouth closes with a click. Satisfied, Bucky turns to Steve, completely ignoring the other man to look his boyfriend over. Steve's handcuffed, his feet still bare and something that looks suspiciously like a bruise forming under his left eye. Gently, Bucky reaches up to touch it, and Steve hisses in pain.

"What are you doing here, Buck?" Steve asks quietly.

"You think I’m just gonna let these assholes take you?" Bucky asks gently, running a hand through Steve's unruly hair. "Not on my watch, sweetheart. You were with me all night - once they realize they've got nothing, we can go home."

Steve's eyes flutter closed as he presses his face further into Bucky's hands. "I love you."

Instead of answering, Bucky leans forward to press a soft, chaste kiss to Steve's lips, before pulling Steve to his chest and resting his head on top of Steve's. Steve gladly snuggles closer with a shaky exhale, his hair tickling Bucky's neck, and Bucky turns his gaze to the window, silently watching the city pass and waiting for their fate.

About half an hour later they're pulling up in front of a large precinct Bucky's never seen before, and Steve's being pulled from his arms and out of the van quicker than Bucky can react. Sam's standing by the entrance to the precinct, arms crossed and jaw clenched tight enough that if Bucky wasn't so angry, he'd be worried about him cracking a tooth.

"Are you part of this?" Bucky hisses as Sam falls into step beside him.

"They kicked me off the case," Sam mutters, sending death glares towards the SWAT team in front of them. "Major Crimes has taken over. They only had time to skim over my reports before Pierce was brought in. Bastards didn't even look at the body before they were sending the fuckin' Army to your place."

As they reached the entrance to the interrogation rooms, they're stopped by another officer. "You two can't go in there."

"My name is Sam Wilson," Sam says calmly before Bucky can deck the guy. "I'm the detective in charge of the Avenger case."

"You mean you _were_ the detective in charge," the officer corrects, a little smirk on his face. "Let the experts handle this, and maybe you'll be lucky enough to be a footnote in the case file."

"You little -" Bucky begins, but Sam grabs him by the arm and drags him away before he can punch that smug smile off the man's face.

"We'll talk to you in a while, mister Barnes," the officer calls after them, and Sam's hand tightens on his arm. When Bucky glances over at him, Sam looks furious.

"What do you mean you were kicked off the case?" Bucky asks as Sam leads him to a bench next to the stairs. Sam nearly collapses into his seat, letting go of Bucky's arm just to rub at his eyes.

"I _mean_ , Major Crimes has been waiting for an opportunity to take over this case ever since it hit the press," Sam says wearily. "When they caught wind that the latest victim was the Commissioner of the NYPD, the fucking vultures didn't waste any time."

"And it _was_ the Avenger who killed him?"

"Yep. Can't say I'm surprised - Pierce perfectly fits the MO of the other victims - it's just icing on the cake that he worked in law enforcement."

"I'll bet," Bucky mutters, shifting in his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable. "How long d'you think they're gonna make us wait?"

"I don't know," Sam replies honestly. "They probably won't let Steve outta questioning for a few hours - try and break his resolve."

Sam lets out a long sigh, and Bucky stays silent. Steve _was_ with him all night - Bucky never woke up to find Steve gone, and he's pretty sure that Steve _wouldn't_ go out anyway - he'd been exhausted.

"…They didn't find any evidence that Steve had been at the crime scene, did they?" Bucky asks hesitantly.

"Nope," Sam sighs. "No DNA evidence was found, and there were no witnesses. They just took one look at the suspect list and went from there."

"Bastards," Bucky mutters, but inside he feels a wave of relief. He'd been _wrong - Sam_ had been wrong. Bucky sags against Sam, suddenly unable to hold himself up, and he feels a warm arm settle over his shoulders.

"Riley at work?" Bucky mumbles. His voice is a bit muffled by Sam's shirt, but Sam seems to understand him.

"Yeah," Sam sighs, and Bucky feels him rest his cheek against the top of Bucky's head. "He offered to come - for moral support, y'know - but I said no."

"Why?" Bucky asks curiously. "You'd feel better with him here."

Sam's quiet for a few moments, and Bucky takes the chance to close his eyes. "I already take too much of my work home. I don't want him to see this."

"He'd do it in a heartbeat, y'know," Bucky mumbles. Already, the adrenaline of the morning was fading, leaving him exhausted.

"I know," Sam murmurs. Satisfied with that, Bucky allows himself to drift off.

He doesn't know how long he dozes for. He's mildly aware of things that are happening around him - Sam's comforting weight next to him, the bustling of the precinct, the occasional chirp of a phone - but it all blends together until it's all just background noise, barely noticeable. After an undeterminable amount of time, Bucky's nudged awake by Sam, and he opens his eyes to find an officer standing in front of them. She's tall, with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and a strong jaw, but her eyes are far more gentle than the other officers Bucky's seen today.

"James Barnes?" the officer says. "Come with me, please."

Bucky glances over at Sam, who doesn't look at all happy with letting him go alone, and gives him a smile that is hopefully comforting. From Sam's expression, he probably failed at that.

"Have you finished with Steve?" Bucky asks as he stands up. The officer gestures at him to follow her, and Bucky reluctantly follows. "Can we go home now?"

"Not just yet," the officer says, and her voice is almost gentle. "We just need to ask you a few questions."

Bucky bites back a retort, and instead lets her lead him into an empty interrogation room. She gestures for him to sit, taking her own seat opposite and leaning her elbows on the table. 

"Mister Barnes, my name is Sharon Carter," she says, linking her fingers together. "I'm a detective here at Major Crimes, and I specialize in the questioning of witnesses and loved ones of those suspected of crimes."

"You're here to see if I can give you any evidence on Steve," Bucky replies flatly, and Carter gives him a wry smile.

"I'm here to see if you and mister Rogers have matching stories," she corrects. "After your rude wake-up call this morning and all this ensuing drama, I'm guessing you wanna get out of here as soon as possible. I'm here to help with that."

Bucky hesitates for a second, before sighing and leaning forward. "What do you wanna know?"

Carter mirrors his posture. "Can you walk me through last night?"

"Steve got home around six-thirty," Bucky starts, looking down at his clasped hands. "I'd forgotten it was Valentine's day, so I'd just been ready for a lazy night in, but he took me out to a shitty little pizza joint on the bay for dinner. We got home a few hours later and didn't leave the house again."

"What time do you think you fell asleep?" Carter asks, and Bucky can't help but blush.

"Uh, we went to bed around ten, I think? We, uh, didn't get much sleep for the first few hours."

Carter, to her credit, just nods. "Did you notice mister Rogers getting up at any point last night?"

"No."

"Do you think he could have gotten up without you knowing?" Bucky can't help but snort at that.

"Definitely not. Steve is not a sneaky guy, and when he tries to be, he sounds like a bull in a china shop."

Carter gives a small smile at that. "And was there any point last night where you and mister Rogers were apart?"

"Steve never left my sight once after he came back home after work," Bucky replies firmly. "There is no way he could have killed Alexander Pierce."

Carter studies him for a moment, and Bucky has to refrain from breaking eye contact. Finally, she nods and looks away, and Bucky can breathe again.

"Well, we have no reason to keep you two," she says briskly, rising from her seat. "I'll coordinate with the detectives interrogating mister Rogers and see to you two getting out of here."

Bucky has to take a few seconds to digest her words. "Really?"

"What, you think I'd just keep bugging you until you said that your boyfriend has been murdering people?" Carter asks, her eyes twinkling. "Despite what some of my colleagues may think, I don't believe aggression and intimidation to be sufficient techniques of retrieving the truth. Your story matches up almost perfectly with Mister Rogers, and I see no point in keeping you two here."

She opens the door of the room with a tilt of her head, and Bucky shakily rises from his seat to follow her back out into the main area of the precinct.

"I'll go and get your boyfriend out of his cell," Carter says as she walks, her manner once again brisk and professional. "If you just grab your friend and go to the front desk, I'll get the discharge papers ready for you and you'll be good to go."

"Thank you," Bucky says quietly, and Carter gives him a small smile.

"No problem. I'll grab those papers."

She walks away, and Bucky quickly makes his way over to where he'd left Sam. Sam was in the same place he was when Bucky had been taken by Carter, and he seems almost surprised to see him.

"That was fast," Sam notes, standing up when Bucky gets closer. "How'd it go?"

"She's grabbing Steve now," Bucky replies wearily, letting Sam wrap an arm around his shoulders. "We just gotta sign some discharge papers and we're gone."

"I can drive you guys home," Sam says gently, already guiding Bucky over to the front desk. "Neither of you are in the right state of mind to be catching the subway - especially since I'm pretty sure they still haven't given your man a pair of shoes."

"As long as you call Riley and let him fuss over you," Bucky retorts.

"He's at work, Bucky," Sam reminds him.

"And he's got so many sick days lined up that he could take a month off and still get paid," Bucky points out. "Come on, Sam. He's probably worried sick."

Sam's quiet for the entire time it takes for Bucky to sign Steve's discharge papers, handed to him by a very bored-looking officer. "Okay, fine. I'll call him as soon as I drop you guys off."

Bucky would have said something in reply, but it was then that he catches sight of Carter walking towards them, Steve at her side. She's talking to him about something, probably his discharge, but Bucky can't help himself from closing the distance between them and throwing his arms around Steve's shoulders. Steve curls into him, faintly trembling, and Bucky just grips him tighter. Distantly, he can hear Carter talking to Sam, but it's not something he pays attention to - not when Steve feels like he's about to fall apart in Bucky's arms.

"Sam," Bucky calls, and the conversation abruptly stops before he feels Sam come closer to stop in front of them.

"Steve," Sam says gently, and Bucky feels Steve lift his head. "Hey, buddy, I'm here to get you guys home. Let's go downstairs, huh?"

Steve nods shakily and lets himself be led into the elevator and out of the building, still clinging to Bucky like a limpet. Luckily Sam hasn't parked far away, and soon enough Bucky's piling Steve into the back of the car and climbing in after him, not saying a word when Steve silently rests his head in his lap. Sam glances back at them from the driver's seat, his eyebrows furrowed in worry, but instead of saying anything he just turns back around and starts the car.

Steve doesn't move his head from Bucky's lap the entire drive, and Bucky doesn't make him. Instead, he runs his fingers through Steve's hair and looks out the window, the parallels from this morning's drive more than a little unsettling. Sam doesn't talk, but he does turn on the radio, soft jazz filtering through the car's shitty speakers. It seems like no time at all and also an eternity has passed when they finally pull up in front of their apartment complex, and Sam follows them up and into the apartment. The door's been fixed, no longer hanging off its hinges, and Bucky mindlessly wonders who'd done it. Probably the same assholes who knocked it down.

"Call me if you need anything," Sam says quietly, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Even if you just need someone to cook for you or something - I'll be here."

Bucky can't muster up anything more than a tired smile. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam pats his shoulder and, after a moment's hesitation, makes his way back towards the door, letting it close softly behind him and leaving Steve and Bucky alone. Shaking off his exhaustion, Bucky leads Steve to the couch and sits him down, running his fingers through Steve's hair as he does so. Steve looks exhausted - that mark on his cheek has turned into a full-on bruise, swollen and purple and definitely not going away any time soon, and his eyes are lidded and ringed with bags.

"I'm gonna get you something to eat," Bucky says softly, but when he tries to move away Steve reaches out and takes his hand. 

"Not hungry," Steve whispers, and squeezes Bucky's hand. "Come here?"

There's no way Bucky can refuse. He crawls onto the couch and lies down, his head on the armrest, and opens his arms in invitation. Steve almost collapses onto his chest, shoving his nose into the crook of Bucky's neck and wrapping those tree-trunk arms around Bucky's waist, letting out a shaky breath before going limp in his arms. Bucky holds him as tight as he can, not surprised when Steve's body starts shaking and tears drip onto his neck, and just presses kisses to the top of Steve's head and rubs his back. 

Steve cries for a long time, long enough that when his breathing returns to normal Bucky's leg has fallen asleep and his stomach's started grumbling. Steve seems content to just lie there, so Bucky shifts his leg and tilts Steve's face up to press a kiss to his forehead.

"I'll order us something to eat," Bucky whispers. Steve grumbles a bit but reluctantly lets Bucky slip out from underneath him, and Bucky grabs his phone from the bedroom before quickly returning to sit on the edge of the couch. Steve doesn't waste any time putting his head back in Bucky's lap, and Bucky feels him kiss his thigh. "You want anything in particular?"

Steve's quiet for a few moments before Bucky hears a muffled, "waffles," spoken to his thigh. Biting back a smile, Bucky pulls up Uber Eats and orders their usual from their usual waffle place, adding extra strawberries to Steve's after a second of hesitation. When the screen lights up with the message that their food would arrive within the hour Bucky tosses his phone to the side, shuffling down until he can reach Steve's lips with his own. The kiss is lazy, and it makes the last of the tenseness in Bucky's body melt away until all he feels is Steve's body against his own.

They break away after an unknown amount of time, and Bucky takes the opportunity to study Steve's face. His eyes are still puffy from crying, and that bruise looks even worse than it did earlier, but he's watching Bucky with soft eyes and a quirk to his lips that, even after a year, makes Bucky's heart flutter.

The food arrives not much later, and they eat curled up on the couch, feeding each other little bits of food. It must be close to midday now, but when they finish they just crawl back into bed, wrapped around each other as tight as they can. 

It's not until Bucky's almost asleep that he hears Steve whisper, "I wasn't scared for me."

He looks up blearily to see Steve watching him. "What do you mean?"

"When they… when they took me," Steve says, taking a deep breath. "I wasn't scared for me. I… I'm not scared of prison, or a conviction, or the damn police. I was scared that they'd take you away from me."

Bucky's breath catches in his chest, before he's reaching up to yank Steve down into a desperate kiss with teeth and tongue. Steve tightens his grip on Bucky's body and returns the kiss just as fiercely, and when they break apart Bucky's lips are tingling. 

"Listen to me, Steve Rogers," Bucky whispers, pressing their foreheads together. "There is nothing in the world that could take me away from you, understand? I'd rather die than let you go, and I don’t give a shit if the whole world is out to get us - I'm not leaving."

It's quiet for a few moments, save for Steve's shaky breathing, and Bucky's heart almost breaks when he hears Steve ask in a small voice, "Promise?"

"I promise." He presses another kiss to Steve's lips. Steve lets out a shaky breath and shuffles down until he can rest his head on Bucky's chest, and Bucky wraps his arms around his shoulders, kissing Steve's forehead. Steve's a warm, comforting weight, and it's not long before Bucky finds his eyes closing, and he drifts off into unconsciousness wrapped around the man he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know in the last chapter I said that the chapter after this will be the big reveal, but I've decided to put a fluffy little filler between them, just to make sure everything isn't moving too fast. Also, I'm so sorry it took me a whole month to get this chapter up, but my schoolwork is heating up a bit and also I've been sick for the past week and haven't really been able to do anything. I'm not too sure when the next chapter will be up, but I promise it'll be in the next few weeks (I will probably break this promise tbh since I am Not Good at sticking to deadlines)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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